THE  VANISHED  MESSENGER 


With  every  muscle  of  his  body  and  neck  he  strained 
and  strained. 

FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  318 


THE  WORKS  OF 


THE  VANISHED  MESSENGER 


New  York 

The  Review  of  Reviews  Co. 
1920 


Copyright, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


.Stack 

Annex 


5V/ 


THE  VANISHED  MESSENGER 


CHAPTER  I 

There  were  very  few  people  upon  Platform  Number 
Twenty-one  of  Liverpool  Street  Station  at  a  quarter 
to  nine  on  the  evening  of  April  2  —  possibly  because 
the  platform  in  question  is  one  of  the  most  remote  and 
least  used  in  the  great  terminus.  The  station-master, 
however,  was  there  himself,  with  an  inspector  in  at- 
tendance. A  dark,  thick-set  man,  wearing  a  long 
travelling  ulster  and  a  Homburg  hat,  and  carrying  in 
his  hand  a  brown  leather  dressing-case,  across  which 
was  painted  in  black  letters  the  name  MR.  JOHN  P. 
DUNSTER,  was  standing  a  few  yards  away,  smoking 
a  long  cigar,  and  to  all  appearance  absorbed  in 
studying  the  advertisements  which  decorated  the 
grimy  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the  single  track.  A 
couple  of  porters  were  seated  upon  a  barrow  which 
contained  one  solitary  portmanteau.  There  were  no 
signs  of  other  passengers,  no  other  luggage.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  according  to  the  time-table,  no  train 
was  due  to  leave  the  station  or  to  arrive  at  it,  on  this 
particular  platform,  for  several  hours. 

Down  at  the  other  end  of  the  platform  the  wooden 


2         THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

barrier  was  thrust  back,  and  a  porter  with  some  lug- 
gage upon  a  barrow  made  his  noisy  approach.  He 
was  followed  by  a  tall  young  man  in  a  grey  tweed  suit 
and  a  straw  hat  on  which  were  the  colours  of  a  famous 
cricket  club. 

The  inspector  watched  them  curiously.  "  Lost  his 
way,  I  should  think,"  he  observed. 

The  station-master  nodded.  "  It  looks  like  the 
young  man  who  missed  the  boat  train,"  he  remarked. 
"  Perhaps  he  has  come  to  beg  a  lift." 

The  young  man  in  question  made  steady  progress 
up  the  platform.  His  hands  were  thrust  deep  into 
the  pockets  of  his  coat,  and  his  forehead  was  con- 
tracted in  a  frown.  As  he  approached  more  closely, 
he  singled  out  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster,  and  motioning 
his  porter  to  wait,  crossed  to  the  edge  of  the  track 
and  addressed  him. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  sir?  " 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  turned  at  once  and  faced  his 
questioner.  He  did  so  without  haste  —  with  a  certain 
deliberation,  in  fact  —  yet  his  eyes  were  suddenly 
bright  and  keen.  He  was  neatly  dressed,  with  the 
quiet  precision  which  seems  as  a  rule  to  characterise 
the  travelling  American.  He  was  apparently  of  a 
little  less  than  middle-age,  clean-shaven,  broad- 
shouldered,  with  every  appearance  of  physical 
strength.  He  seemed  like  a  man  on  wires,  a  man  on 
the  alert,  likely  to  miss  nothing. 

"  Are  you  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster?  "  the  youth  asked. 

"  I  carry  my  visiting-card  in  my  hand,  sir,"  the 
other  replied,  swinging  his  dressing-case  around. 
"  My  name  is  John  P.  Dunster." 

The  young  man's  expression  was  scarcely  ingrati- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER         3 

ating.  To  a  natural  sullenness  was  added  now  the 
nervous  distaste  of  one  who  approaches  a  disagreeable 
task. 

"  I  want,  if  I  may,  to  ask  you  a  favour,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  If  you  don't  feel  like  granting  it,  please 
say  no  and  I'll  be  off  at  once.  I  am  on  my  way  to  The 
Hague.  I  was  to  have  gone  by  the  boat  train  which 
left  half  an  hour  ago.  I  had  taken  a  seat,  and  they 
assured  me  that  the  train  would  not  leave  for  at  least 
ten  minutes,  as  the  mails  weren't  in.  I  went  down  the 
platform  to  buy  some  papers  and  stood  talking  for  a 
moment  or  two  with  a  man  whom  I  know.  I  suppose 
I  must  have  been  longer  than  I  thought,  or  they  must 
have  been  quicker  than  they  expected  with  the  mail- 
bags.  Anyhow,  when  I  came  back  the  train  was  mov- 
ing. They  would  not  let  me  jump  in.  I  could  have 
done  it  easily,  but  that  fool  of  an  inspector  over  there 
held  me." 

"  They  are  very  strict  in  this  country,  I  know," 
Mr.  Dunster  agreed,  without  change  of  expression. 
"  Please  go  on." 

"I  saw  you  arrive  —  just  too  late  for  the  train. 
While  I  was  swearing  at  the  inspector,  I  heard  you 
speak  to  the  station-master.  Since  then  I  have  made 
inquiries.  I  understand  that  you  have  ordered  a 
special  train  to  Harwich." 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  said  nothing,  only  his  keen, 
clear  eyes  seemed  all  the  time  to  be  questioning  this 
gloomy-looking  but  apparently  harmless  young  man. 

"  I  went  to  the  station-master's  office,"  the  latter 
continued,  "  and  tried  to  persuade  them  to  let  me 
ride  in  the  guard's  van  of  your  special,  but  he  made 
a  stupid  fuss  about  it,  so  I  thought  I'd  better  come 


4         THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

to  you.     Can  I  beg  a  seat  in  your  compartment,  or 
anywhere  in  the  train,  as  far  as  Harwich?  " 

Mr.  Dunster  avoided,  for  the  moment,  a  direct  re- 
ply. He  had  the  air  of  a  man  who,  whether  reason- 
ably or  unreasonably,  disliked  the  request  which  had 
been  made  to  him. 

"  You  are  particularly  anxious  to  cross  to-night?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  am,"  the  youth  admitted  emphatically.  "  I 
never  ought  to  have  risked  missing  the  train.  I  am 
due  at  The  Hague  to-morrow." 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  moved  his  position  a  little. 
The  light  from  a  rain-splashed  gas  lamp  shone  now 
full  upon  the  face  of  his  suppliant:  a  boy's  face, 
which  would  have  been  pleasant  and  even  handsome 
but  for  the  discontented  mouth,  the  lowering  fore- 
head, and  a  shadow  in  the  eyes,  as  though,  boy  though 
he  certainly  was  in  years,  he  had  already,  at  some 
time  or  another,  looked  upon  tbe  serious  things  of 
life.  His  nervousness,  too,  was  almost  grotesque. 
He  had  the  air  of  disliking  immensely  this  asking 
a  favour  from  a  stranger.  Mr.  Dunster  appreciated 
all  these  things,  but  there  were  reasons  which  made 
him  slow  in  granting  the  young  man's  request. 

"  What  is  the  nature  of  your  pressing  business  at 
The  Hague  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  youth  hesitated. 

.  "  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  grimly,  "  that  you  will  not 
think  it  of  much  importance.  I  am  on  my  way  to 
play  in  a  golf  tournament  there." 

"  A  golf  tournament  at  The  Hague !  "  Mr.  Dunster 
repeated,  in  a  slightly  altered  tone.  "  What  is  your 
name?  " 


"  Gerald  Fentolin." 

Mr.  Dunster  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  He 
was  possessed  of  a  wonderful  memory,  and  he  was 
conscious  at  that  moment  of  a  subtle  appeal  to  it. 
Fentolin!  There  was  something  in  the  name  which 
seemed  to  him  somehow  associated  with  the  things 
against  which  he  was  on  guard.  He  stood  with  puz- 
zled frown,  reminiscent  for  several  minutes,  unsuc- 
cessful. Then  he  suddenly  smiled,  and  moving  under- 
neath the  gas  lamp,  shook  open  an  evening  paper 
which  he  had  been  carrying.  He  turned  over  the 
pages  until  he  arrived  at  the  sporting  items.  Here, 
in  almost  the  first  paragraph,  he  saw  the  name 
which  had  happened  to  catch  his  eye  a  moment  or 
two  before: 

GOLF  AT  THE  HAGUE 

Among  the  entrants  for  the  tournament  which  com- 
mences to-morrow,  are  several  well-known  English 
players,  including  Mr.  Barwin,  Mr.  Parrott,  Mr.  Hillard 
and  Mr.  Gerald  Fentolin. 

Mr.  Dunster  folded  up  the  newspaper  and  replaced 
it  in  his  pocket.  He  turned  towards  the  young  man. 

"  So  you're  a  golfer,  are  you?  " 

"  I  play  a  bit,"  was  the  somewhat  indifferent  reply. 

Mr.  Dunster  turned  to  another  part  of  the  paper 
and  pointed  to  the  great  black  head-lines. 

"  Seems  a  queer  thing  for  a  young  fellow  like  you 
to  be  worrying  about  games,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
haven't  been  in  this  country  more  than  a  few  hours, 
but  I  expected  to  find  all  the  young  men  getting 
ready." 

"  Getting  ready  for  what?  " 


6         THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Why,  to  fight,  of  course,"  Mr.  Dunster  replied. 
"  Seems  pretty  clear  that  there's  an  expeditionary 
force  being  fitted  out,  according  to  this  evening's 
paper,  somewhere  up  in  the  North  Sea.  The  only 
Englishman  I've  spoken  to  on  this  side  was  willing  to 
lay  me  odds  that  war  would  be  declared  within  a 
week." 

The  young  man's  lack  of  interest  was  curious. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  army,"  he  said.  "  It  really 
doesn't  affect  me." 

Mr.   Dunster  stared  at  him. 

"  You'll  forgive  my  curiosity,"  he  said,  "  but  say, 
is  there  nothing  you  could  get  into  and  fight  if  this 
thing  came  along?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  that  I  know  of,"  the  youth  replied 
coolly.  "  War  is  an  affair  which  concerns  only  the 
military  and  naval  part  of  two  countries.  The  civil 
population  — " 

"  Plays  golf,  I  suppose,"  Mr.  Dunster  interrupted. 
"  Young  man,  I  haven't  been  in  England  for  some 
years,  and  you  rather  take  my  breath  away.  All  the 
same,  you  can  come  along  with  me  as  far  as  Harwich." 

The  young  man  showed  signs  of  some  satisfaction. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  he  de- 
clared. "  I  promise  you  I  won't  be  in  the  way." 

The  station-master,  who  had  been  looking  through 
a  little  pile  of  telegrams  brought  to  him  by  a  clerk 
from  his  office,  now  turned  towards  them.  His  ex- 
pression was  a  little  grave. 

"  Your  special  will  be  backing  down  directly,  sir," 
he  announced,  "  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  we  hear 
very  bad  accounts  of  the  line.  They  say  that  this  is 
only  the  fag-end  of  the  storm  that  we  are  getting 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER         7 

here,  and  that  it's  been  raging  for  nearly  twenty- 
four  hours  on  the  east  coast.  I  doubt  whether  the 
Harwich  boat  will  be  able  to  put  off." 

"  We  must  take  our  chance  about  that,"  Dunster 
remarked.  "  If  the  mail  boat  doesn't  run,  I  presume 
there  will  be  something  else  we  can  charter." 

The  station-master  looked  the  curiosity  which  he 
did  not  actually  express  in  words. 

"  Money  will  buy  most  things,  nowadays,  sir,"  he 
observed,  "  but  if  it  isn't  fit  for  our  mail  boat,  it  cer- 
tainly isn't  fit  for  anything  else  that  can  come  into 
Harwich  Harbour.  However,  you'll  hear  what  they 
say  when  you  get  there." 

Mr.  Dunster  nodded  and  relapsed  into  a  taciturn- 
ity which  was  obviously  one  of  his  peculiarities.  The 
young  man  strolled  down  the  platform,  and  catching 
up  with  the  inspector,  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  know  who  the  fellow  is  ?  "  he  asked  curi- 
ously. "  It's  awfully  decent  of  him  to  let  me  go  with 
him,  but  he  didn't  seem  very  keen  about  it." 

The  inspector  shook  his  head. 

"  No  idea,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  He  drove  up  just 
two  minutes  after  the  train  had  gone,  came  straight 
into  the  office  and  ordered  a  special.  Paid  for  it, 
too,  in  Bank  of  England  notes  before  he  went  out. 
I  fancy  he's  an  American,  and  he  gave  his  name  as 
John  P.  Dunster." 

The  young  man  paused  to  light  a  cigarette. 

"  If  he's  an  American,  I  suppose  that  accounts  for 
it,"  he  observed.  "  He  must  be  in  a  precious  hurry 
to  get  somewhere,  though." 

"  A  night  like  this,  too ! "  the  inspector  remarked, 
with  a  shiver.  "  I  wouldn't  leave  London  myself  un- 


8         THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

less  I  had  to.  They  say  there's  a  tremendous  storm 
blowing  on  the  east  coast.  Here  comes  the  train,  sir 
—  just  one  saloon  and  the  guard's  van." 

The  little  train  backed  slowly  along  the  platform 
side.  The  engine  was  splashed  with  mud  and  soak- 
ing wet.  The  faces  of  the  engine-driver  and  his  com- 
panion shone  from  the  dripping  rain.  The  station- 
master  held  open  the  door  of  the  saloon. 

"  You've  a  rough  journey  before  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  You'll  catch  the  boat  all  right,  though  —  if  it  goes. 
The    mail    train    was    very    heavy    to-night.     You 
should  catch  her  up  this  side  of  Colchester." 
Mr.  Dunster  nodded. 

"  I  am  taking  this  young  gentleman  with  me,"  he 
announced  shortly.  "  It  seems  that  he,  too,  missed 
the  train.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  station-master, 
for  your  attention.  Good  night !  " 

They  were  about  to  start  when  Mr.  Dunster  once 
more  let  down  the  window. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  as  it  is  such  a  wild  night, 
you  will  oblige  me  very  much  if  you  will  tell  the  en- 
gine-driver that  there  will  be  a  five  pound  note  for 
himself  and  his  companion  if  we  catch  the  mail.  In- 
spector !  " 

The  inspector  touched  his  hat.  The  station-master 
had  turned  discreetly  away.  He  had  been  an  in- 
spector himself  once,  and  sovereigns  had  been  useful 
to  him,  too.  Then  the  train  glided  from  the  platform 
side,  plunged  with  a  scream  through  a  succession  of 
black  tunnels,  and  with  rapidly  increasing  speed  faced 
the  storm. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  young  man  sat  on  one  side  of  the  saloon  and 
Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  on  the  other.  Although  both  of 
them  were  provided  with  a  certain  amount  of  rail- 
way literature,  neither  of  them  made  any  pretence  at 
reading.  The  older  man,  with  his  feet  upon  the  op- 
posite seat  and  his  arms  folded,  was  looking  pensively 
through  the  rain-splashed  window-pane  into  the  im- 
penetrable darkness.  The  young  man,  although  he 
could  not  ignore  his  companion's  unsociable  instincts, 
was  fidgety. 

"  There  will  be  some  floods  out  to-morrow,"  he 
remarked. 

Mr.  Dunster  turned  his  head  and  looked  across  the 
saloon.  There  was  something  in  the  deliberate  man- 
ner of  his  doing  so,  and  his  hesitation  before  he  spoke, 
which  seemed  intended  to  further  impress  upon  the 
young  man  the  fact  that  he  was  not  disposed  for 
conversation. 

"  Very  likely,"  was  his  sole  reply. 

Gerald  Fentolin  sighed  as  though  he  regretted  his 
companion's  taciturnity  and  a  few  minutes  later 
strolled  to  the  farther  end  of  the  saloon.  He  spent 
some  time  trying  to  peer  through  the  streaming  win- 
dow into  the  darkness.  He  chatted  for  a  few  minutes 
with  the  guard,  who  was,  however,  in  a  bad  temper 
at  having  had  to  turn  out  and  who  found  little  to  say. 
Then  he  took  one  of  his  golf  clubs  from  the  bag  and 


io       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

indulged  in  several  half  swings.  Finally  he  stretched 
himself  out  upon  one  of  the  seats  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"  May  as  well  try  to  get  a  nap,"  he  yawned. 
"  There  won't  be  much  chance  on  the  steamer,  if  it 
blows  like  this." 

Mr.  Dunster  said  nothing.  His  face  was  set,  his 
eyes  were  looking  somewhere  beyond  the  confines  of 
the  saloon  in  which  he  was  seated.  So  they  travelled 
for  over  an  hour.  The  young  man  seemed  to  be  doz- 
ing in  earnest  when,  with  a  succession  of  jerks,  the 
train  rapidly  slackened  speed.  Mr.  Dunster  let  down 
the  window.  The  interior  of  the  carriage  was  at 
once  thrown  into  confusion.  A  couple  of  newspapers 
were  caught  up  and  whirled  around,  a  torrent  of  rain 
beat  in.  Mr.  Dunster  rapidly  closed  the  window  and 
rang  the  bell.  The  guard  came  in  after  a  moment 
or  two.  His  clothes  were  shiny  from  the  wet;  rain- 
drops hung  from  his  beard. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  Mr.  Dunster  demanded. 
"  Why  are  we  waiting  here  ?  " 

"  There's  a  block  on  the  line  somewhere,  sir,"  the 
man  replied.  "  Can't  tell  where  exactly.  The  sig- 
nals are  against  us ;  that's  all  we  know  at  present." 

They  crawled  on  again  in  about  ten,  minutes, 
stopped,  and  resumed  their  progress  at  an  even  slower 
rate.  Mr.  Dunster  once  more  summoned  the  guard. 

"  Why  are  we  travelling  like  this  ?  "  he  asked  im- 
patiently. "  We  shall  never  catch  the  boat." 

"  We  shall  catch  the  boat  all  right  if  it  runs,  sir," 
the  man  assured  him.  "  The  mail  is  only  a  mile  or 
two  ahead  of  us ;  that's  one  reason  why  we  have  to 
go  so  slowly.  Then  the  water  is  right  over  the  line 
where  we  are  now,  and  we  can't  get  any  news  at  all 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       n 

from  the  other  side  of  Ipswich.  If  it  goes  on  like 
this,  some  of  the  bridges  will  be  down;  that's  vhat 
I'm  afraid  of." 

Mr.  Dunster  frowned.  For  the  first  time  he  showed 
some  signs  of  uneasiness. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  muttered,  half  to  himself,  "  a  motor- 
car would  have  been  better." 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  his  young  companion  inter- 
vened. "  All  the  roads  to  the  coast  here  cross  no 
end  of  small  bridges  —  much  weaker  affairs  than  the 
railway  bridges.  I  bet  there  are  some  of  those  down 
already.  Besides,  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  see  where 
you  were  going,  on  a  night  like  this." 

"  There  appears  to  be  a  chance,"  Mr.  Dunster  re- 
marked drily,  "  that  you  will  have  to  scratch  for  your 
competition  to-morrow." 

"  Also,"  the  young  man  observed,  "  that  you  will 
have  taken  this  special  train  for  nothing.  I  can't 
fancy  the  Harwich  boat  going  out  a  night  like  this." 

Mr.  Dunster  relapsed  into  stony  but  anxious  silence. 
The  train  continued  its  erratic  progress,  sometimes 
stopping  altogether  for  a  time,  with  whistle  blowing 
repeatedly ;  sometimes  creeping  along  the  metals  as 
though  feeling  its  way  to  safety.  At  last,  after  a 
somewhat  prolonged  wait,  the  guard,  whose  hoarse 
voice  they  had  heard  on  the  platform  of  the  small  sta- 
tion in  which  they  were  standing,  entered  the  carriage. 
With  him  came  a  gust  of  wind,  once  more  sending  the 
papers  flying  around  the  compartment.  The  rain 
dripped  from  his  clothes  on  to  the  carpet.  He  had 
lost  his  hat,  his  hair  was  tossed  with  the  wind,  his 
face  was  bleeding  from  a  slight  wound  on  the  temple. 

"  The  boat  train's  just  ahead  of  us,  sir,"  he  an- 


12       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

nounced.  "  She  can't  get  on  any  better  than  we  can. 
We've  just  heard  that  there's  a  bridge  down  on  the 
line  between  Ipswich  and  Harwich." 

"What  are  we  going  to  do,  then?  "  Mr.  Dunster 
demanded. 

"  That's  just  what  I've  come  to  ask  you,  sir,"  the 
guard  replied.  "  The  mail's  going  slowly  on  as  far 
as  Ipswich.  I  fancy  they'll  lie  by  there  until  the 
morning.  The  best  thing  that  I  can  see  is,  if  you're 
agreeable,  to  take  you  back  to  London.  We  can 
very  likely  do  that  all  right,  if  we  start  at  once." 

Mr.  Dunster,  ignoring  the  man's  suggestion,  drew 
from  one  of  the  voluminous  pockets  of  his  ulster  a 
small  map.  He  spread  it  open  upon  the  table  before 
him  and  studied  it  attentively. 

"  If  I  cannot  get  to  Harwich,"  he  asked,  "  is  there 
any  possibility  of  keeping  straight  on  and  reaching 
Yarmouth?" 

The  guard  hesitated. 

"  We  haven't  heard  anything  about  the  line  from 
Ipswich  to  Norwich,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  but  we  can't 
very  well  change  our  course  without  definite  instruc- 
tions." 

"  Your  definite  instructions,"  Mr.  Dunster  reminded 
him  drily,  "  were  to  take  me  to  Harwich.  You  have 
been  forced  to  depart  from  them.  I  see  no  harm 
in  your  adopting  any  suggestions  I  may  have  to  make 
concerning  our  altered  destination.  I  will  pay  the 
extra  mileage,  naturally." 

"  How  far  did  you  wish  to  go,  sir?  "  the  guard  en- 
quired. 

"  To  Yarmouth,"  Mr.  Dunster  replied  firmly.  "  If 
there  are  bridges  down,  and  communkation  with  Har- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       13 

wich  is  blocked,  Yarmouth  would  suit  me  better  than 
anywhere." 

The  guard  shook  his  head. 

"  I  couldn't  go  on  that  way,  sir,  without  instruc- 
tions." 

"  Is  there  a  telegraph  office  at  this  station?  "  Mr- 
Dunster  inquired. 

"  We  can  speak  anywhere  on  the  line,"  the  guard 
replied. 

"  Then  wire  to  the  station-master  at  Liverpool 
Street,"  Mr.  Dunster  instructed.  "  You  can  get  a 
reply  from  him  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes.  Ex- 
plain the  situation  and  tell  him  what  my  wishes  are." 

The  guard  hesitated. 

"  It's  a  goodish  way  from  here  to  Norwich,"  he 
observed,  "  and  for  all  we  know  — " 

"  When  we  left  Liverpool  Street  Station,"  Mr. 
Dunster  interrupted,  "  I  promised  five  pounds  each 
to  you,  the  engine-driver,  and  his  mate.  That  five 
pounds  shall  be  made  twenty-five  if  you  succeed  in 
getting  me  to  the  coast.  Do  your  best  for  me." 

The  guard  raised  his  hat  and  departed  without  an- 
other word. 

"  It  will  probably  suit  you  better,"  Mr.  Dunster 
continued,  turning  to  his  companion,  "  to  leave  me  at 
Ipswich  and  join  the  mail." 

The  latter  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  see  that  there's  any  chance,  anyway,  of 
my  getting  over  in  time  now,"  he  remarked.  "  If 
you'll  take  me  on  with  you  as  far  as  Norwich,  I  can 
go  quietly  home  from  there." 

"  You  live  in  this  part  of  the  world,  then  ?  "  Mr. 
Dunster  asked. 


j4       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

The  young  man  assented.  Again  there  was  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  hesitation  in  his  manner. 

"  I  live  some  distance  the  other  side  of  Norwich," 
he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  sponge  on  you  too  much," 
he  went  on,  "  but  if  you're  really  going  to  stick 
it  out  and  try  and  get  there,  I'd  like  to  go  on,  too. 
I  am  afraid  I  can't  offer  to  share  the  expense,  but 
I'd  work  my  passage  if  there  was  anything  to  be 
done." 

Mr.  Dunster  drummed  for  a  moment  upon  the  table 
with  his  fingers.  All  the  time  the  young  man  had  been 
speaking,  his  eyes  had  been  studying  his  face.  He 
turned  now  once  more  to  his  map. 

"  It  was  my  idea,"  he  said,  "  to  hire  a  steam  trawler 
from  Yarmouth.  If  I  do  so,  you  can,  if  you  wish,  ac- 
company me  so  far  as  the  port  at  which  we  may  land 
in  Holland.  On  the  other  hand,  to  be  perfectly  frank 
with  you,  I  should  prefer  to  go  alone.  There  will  be, 
no  doubt,  a  certain  amount  of  risk  in  crossing  to- 
night. My  own  business  is  of  importance.  A  golf 
tournament,  however,  is  scarcely  worth  risking  your 
life  for,  is  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that !  "  the  young  map 
replied  grimly.     "  I  fancy  I  should   rather  like  it 
Let's  see  whether  we  can  get  on  to  Norwich,  any- 
how, shall  we?     We  may  find  that  there  are  bridges 
down  on  that  line." 

They  relapsed  once  more  into  silence.  Presently 
the  guard  reappeared. 

"  Instructions  to  take  you  on  to  Yarmouth,  if  pos- 
sible, sir,"  he  announced,  "  and  to  collect  the  mileage 
at  our  destination." 

"  That  will  be  quite  satisfactory,"  Mr.  Dunster 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       15 

agreed.     "  Let  us  be  off,  then,  as  soon  as  possible." 

Presently  they  crawled  on.  They  passed  the  boat 
train  in  Ipswich  Station,  where  they  stayed  for  a 
few  moments.  Mr.  Dunster  bought  wine  and  sand- 
wiches, and  his  companion  followed  his  example. 
Then  they  continued  their  journey.  An  hour  or 
more  passed;  the  storm  showed  no  signs  of  abate- 
ment. Their  speed  now  rarely  exceeded  ten  or  fif- 
teen miles  an  hour.  Mr.  Dunster  smoked  all  the 
time,  occasionally  rubbing  the  window-pane  and  try- 
ing to  look  out.  Gerald  Fentolin  slept  fitfully. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  where  we  are?  "  Mr.  Dunster 
asked  once. 

The  boy  cautiously  let  down  the  window  a  little 
way.  With  the  noise  of  the  storm  came  another 
sound,  to  which  he  listened  for  a  moment  with  puz- 
zled face:  a  dull,  rumbling  sound  like  the  falling  of 
water.  He  closed  the  window,  breathless. 

"  I  don't  think  we  are  vfar  from  Norwich*.  We 
passed  Forncett,  anyhow,  some  time  ago." 

"  Still  raining?  » 

"  In  torrents !  I  can't  see  a  yard  ahead  of  me. 
I  bet  we  get  some  floods  after  this.  I  expect  they 
are  out  now,  if  one  could  only  see." 

They  crept  on.  Suddenly,  above  the  storm,  they 
heard  what  sounded  at  first  like  the  booming  of  a 
gun,  and  then  a  shrill  whistle  from  some  distance 
ahead.  They  felt  the  jerk  as  their  brakes  were  hast- 
ily applied,  the  swaying  of  the  little  train,  and  then 
the  crunching  of  earth  beneath  them,  the  roar  of  es- 
caping steam  as  their  engine  ploughed  its  way  on  into 
the  road  bed. 

"  Off  the  rails !  "  the  boy  cried,  springing  to  his 


16       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

feet.     "  Hold  on  tightly,  sir.     I'd  keep  away  from 
the  window." 

The  carriage  swayed  and  rocked.  Suddenly  a  tele- 
graph post  seemed  to  come  crashing  through  the 
window  and  the  polished  mahogany  panels.  The 
young  man  escaped  it  by  leaping  to  one  side.  It 
caught  Mr.  Dunster,  who  had  just  risen  to  his  feet, 
upon  the  forehead.  There  was  a  crash  all  around  of 
splitting  glass,  a  further  shock.  They  were  both 
thrown  off  their  feet.  The  light  was  suddenly  ex- 
tinguished. With  the  crashing  of  glass,  the  splitting 
of  timber  —  a  hideous,  tearing  sound  —  the  wrecked 
saloon,  dragging  the  engine  half-way  over  with  it, 
slipped  down  a  low  embankment  and  lay  on  its  side, 
what  remained  of  it,  in  a  field  of  turnips. 


CHAPTER  in 

As  the  young  man  staggered  to  his  feet,  he  had 
somehow  a  sense  of  detachment,  as  though  he  were 
commencing  a  new  life,  or  had  suddenly  come  into  a 
new  existence.  Yet  his  immediate  surroundings  were 
charged  with  ugly  reminiscences.  Through  a  great 
gap  in  the  ruined  side  of  the  saloon  the  rain  was 
tearing  in.  As  he  stood  up,  his  head  caught  the 
fragments  of  the  roof.  He  was  able  to  push  back 
the  wreckage  with  ease  and  step  out.  For  a  moment 
he  reeled,  as  he  met  the  violence  of  the  storm.  Then, 
clutching  hold  of  the  side  of  the  wreck,  he  steadied 
himself.  A  light  was  moving  back  and  forth,  close 
at  hand.  He  cried  out  weakly :  "  Hullo !  " 

A  man  carrying  a  lantern,  bent  double  as  he  made 
his  way  against  the  wind,  crawled  up  to  them.  He 
was  a  porter  from  the  station  close  at  hand. 

"  My  God !  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Any  one  alive  here  ?  " 

"I'm  all  right,"  Gerald  muttered,  "at  least,  I 
suppose  I  am.  What's  it  all  —  what's  it  all  about  ? 
We've  had  an  accident." 

The  porter  caught  hold  of  a  piece  of  the  wreckage 
with  which  to  steady  himself. 

"  Your  train  ran  right  into  three  feet  of  water," 
he  answered.  "  The  rails  had  gone  —  torn  up.  The 
telegraph  line's  down." 

"  Why  didn't  you  stop  the  train  ?  " 

"  We  were  doing  all  we  could,"  the  man  retorted 


i8       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

gloomily.  "  We  weren't  expecting  anything  else 
through  to-night.  We'd  a  man  along  the  line  with 
a  lantern,  but  he's  just  been  found  blown  over  the 
embankment,  with  his  head  in  a  pool  of  water.  Any 
one  else  in  your  carriage?  " 

"  One  gentleman  travelling  with  me,"  Gerald  an- 
swered. "  We'd  better  try  to  get  him  out.  What 
about  the  guard  and  engine-driver?  " 

"  The  engine-driver  and  stoker  are  both  alive," 
the  porter  told  him.  "  I  came  across  them  before  I 
saw  you.  They're  both  knocked  sort  of  sillylike,  but 
they  aren't  much  hurt.  The  guard's  stone  dead." 

"  Where  are  we  ?  " 

"  A  few  hundred  yards  from  Wymondham.  Let's 
have  a  look  for  the  other  gentleman." 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  was  lying  quite  still,  his 
right  leg  doubled  up,  and  a  huge  block  of  telegraph 
post,  which  the  saloon  had  carried  with  it  in  its  fall, 
still  pressing  against  his  forehead.  He  groaned  as 
they  dragged  him  out  and  laid  him  down  upon  a 
cushion  in  the  shelter  of  the  wreckage. 

"  He's  alive  all  right,"  the  porter  remarked. 
**  There's  a  doctor  on  the  way.  Let's  cover  him  up 
quick  and  wait." 

"  Can't  we  carry  him  to  shelter  of  some  sort  ?  " 
Gerald  proposed. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  Speech  of  any  sort  was 
difficult.  Even  with  his  lips  close  to  the  other's  ears, 
he  had  almost  to  shout. 

"  Couldn't  be  done,"  he  replied.  "  It's  all  one  can 
do  to  walk  alone  when,  you  get  out  in  the  middle  of 
the  field,  away  from  the  shelter  of  the  embankment 
here.  There's  bits  of  trees  flying  all  down  the  lane. 


Never  was  such  a  night !  Folks  is  fair  afraid  of  the 
morning  to  see  what's  happened.  There's  a  mill 
blown  right  over  on  its  side  in  the  next  field,  and  the 
man  in  charge  of  it  lying  dead.  This  poor  chap's 
bad  enough." 

Gerald,  on  all  fours,  had  crept  back  into  the  com- 
partment. The  bottle  of  wine  was  smashed  into 
atoms.  He  came  out,  dragging  the  small  dressing- 
case  which  his  companion  had  kept  on  the  table  be- 
fore him.  One  side  of  it  was  dented  in,  but  the  lock, 
which  was  of  great  strength,  still  held. 

"  Perhaps  there's  a  flask  somewhere  in  this  dressing- 
case,"  Gerald  said.  "  Lend  me  a  knife." 

Strong  though  it  had  been,  the  lock  was  already 
almost  torn  out  from  its  foundation.  They  forced 
the  spring  and  opened  it.  The  porter  turned  his  lan- 
tern on  the  widening  space.  Just  as  Gerald  was 
raising  the  lid  very  slowly  to  save  the  contents  from 
being  scattered  by  the  wind,  the  man  turned  his  head 
to  answer  an  approaching  hail.  Gerald  raised  the 
lid  a  little  higher  and  suddenly  closed  it  with  a  bang. 

"  There's  folks  coming  at  last !  "  the  porter  ex- 
claimed, turning  around  excitedly.  "  They've  been 
a  time  and  no  mistake.  The  village  isn't  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away.  Did  you  find  a  flask,  sir?  " 

Gerald  made  no  answer.  The  dressing-case  once 
more  was  closed,  and  his  hand  pressed  upon  the  lid. 
The  porter  turned  the  light  upon  his  face  and  whis- 
tled softly. 

"  You're  about  done  yourself,  sir,"  he  remarked. 
"  Hold  up." 

He  caught  the  young  man  in  his  arms.  There  was 
another  roar  in  Gerald's  ears  besides  the  roar  of  the 


20       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

wind.  He  had  never  fainted  in  his  life,  but  the  feel- 
ing was  upon  him  now  —  a  deadly  sickness,  a  sway- 
ing of  the  earth.  The  porter  suddenly  gave  a  little 
cry. 

"  If  I'm  not  a  born  idiot !  "  he  exclaimed,  drawing 
a  bottle  from  the  pocket  of  his  coat  with  his  disen- 
gaged hand.  "  There's  whisky  here.  I  was  taking 
it  home  to  the  missis  for  her  rheumatism.  Now% 
then." 

He  drew  the  cork  from  the  bottle  with  his  teeth 
and  forced  some  of  the  liquid  between  the  lips  of  the 
young  man.  The  voices  now  were  coming  nearer 
and  nearer.  Gerald  made  a  desperate  effort. 

"  I  am  all  right,"  he  declared.  "  Let's  look  after 
him." 

They  groped  their  way  towards  the  unconscious 
man,  Gerald  still  gripping  the  dressing-case  with  both 
hands.  There  were  no  signs  of  any  change  in  his  con- 
dition, but  he  was  still  breathing  heavily.  Then  they 
heard  a  shout  behind,  almost  in  their  ears.  The  por- 
ter staggered  to  his  feet. 

"  It's  all  right  now,  sir !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They've 
brought  blankets  and  a  stretcher  and  brandy.  Here's 
a  doctor,  sir." 

A  powerful-looking  man,  hatless,  and  wrapped  in 
a  great  ulster,  moved  towards  them. 

"  How  many  are  there  of  you?  "  he  asked,  as  he 
bent  over  Mr.  Dunster. 

"  Only  we  two,"  Gerald  replied.  "  Is  my  friend 
badly  hurt?  " 

"  Concussion,"  the  doctor  announced.  "  We'll  take 
him  to  the  village.  What  about  you*  yaung  man?" 
Your  face  is  bleeding,  I  see." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       21 

"  Just  a  cut,"  Gerald  faltered ;  "  nothing  else." 

"  Lucky  chap,"  the  doctor  remarked.  "  Let's  get 
him  to  shelter  of  some  sort.  Come  along.  There's 
an  inn  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  there." 

They  all  staggered  along,  Gerald  still  clutching  the 
dressing-case,  and  supported  on  the  other  side  by  an 
excited  and  somewhat  incoherent  villager. 

"  Such  a  storm  as  never  was,"  the  latter  volun- 
teered. "  The  telegraph  wires  are  all  down  for  miles 
and  miles.  There  won't  be  no  trains  running  along 
this  line  come  many  a  week,  and  as  for  trees  —  why, 
it's  as  though  some  one  had  been  playing  ninepins 
in  Squire  Fellowes's  park.  When  the  morning  do 
come,  for  sure  there  will  be  things  to  be  seen.  This 
way,  sir.  Be  careful  of  the  gate." 

They  staggered  along  down  the  lane,  climbing  once 
over  a  tree  which  lay  across  the  lane  and  far  into  the 
adjoining  field.  Soon  they  were  joined  by  more  of 
the  villagers,  roused  from  their  beds  by  rumours  of 
terrible  happenings.  The  little,  single-storey,  ivy- 
covered  inn  was  all  lit  up  and  the  door  held  firmly 
open.  They  passed  through  the  narrow  entrance 
and  into  the  stone-flagged  barroom,  where  the  men  laid 
down  their  stretcher.  As  many  of  the  villagers  as 
could  crowd  in  filled  the  passage.  Gerald  sank  into 
a  chair.  The  sudden  absence  of  wind  was  almost  dis- 
concerting. He  felt  himself  once  more  in  danger  of 
fainting.  He  was  only  vaguely  conscious  of  drinking 
hot  milk,  poured  from  a  jug  by  a  red- faced  and  sym- 
pathetic woman.  Its  restorative  effect,  however,  was 
immediate  and  wonderful.  The  mist  cleared  from  be- 
fore his  eyes,  his  brain  began  to  work.  Always  in  the 
background  the  horror  and  the  shame  were  there,  the 


22       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

shame  which  kept  his  hand  pressed  with  unnatural 
strength  upon  the  broken  lock  of  that  dressing-case. 
He  sat  a  little  apart  from  the  others  and  listened. 
Above  the  confused  murmur  of  voices  he  could  hear 
the  doctor's  comment  and  brief  orders,  as  he  rose  to 
his  feet  after  examining  the  unconscious  man. 

"  An  ordinary  concussion,"  he  declared.  "  I  must 
get  round  and  see  the  engine-driver  now.  They  have 
got  him  in  a  shed  by  the  embankment.  I'll  call  in 
again  later  on.  Let's  have  one  more  look  at  you, 
young  man." 

He  glanced  at  the  cut  on  Gerald's  forehead,  noted 
the  access  of  colour  in  his  cheeks,  and  nodded. 

"  Born  to  be  hanged,  you  were,"  he  pronounced. 
"  You've  had  a  marvellous  escape.  I'll  be  in  again 
presently.  No  need  to  worry  about  your  friend. 
He  looks  as  though  he'd  got  a  mighty  constitution. 
Light  my  lantern,  Brown.  Two  of  you  had  better 
come  with  me  to  the  shed.  It's  no  night  for  a  man 
to  be  wandering  about  alone." 

He  departed,  and  many  of  the  villagers  with  him. 
The  landlady  sat  down  and  began  to  weep. 

"  Such  a  night !  Such  a  night !  "  she  exclaimed, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  And  there's  the  doctor  talks 
about  putting  the  poor  gentleman  to  bed !  Why,  the 
roof's  off  the  back  part  of  the  house,  and  not  a  bed- 
room in  the  place  but  mine  and  John's,  and  the  rain 
coming  in  there  in  torrents.  Such  a  night !  It's  the 
judgment  of  the  Lord  upon  us !  That's  what  it  is  — 
the  judgment  of  the  Lord!  " 

"  Judgment  of  the  fiddlesticks ! "  her  husband 
growled.  "  Can't  you  light  the  fire,  woman  ?  What's 
the  good  of  sitting  there  whining?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       23 

"  Light  the  fire,"  she  repeated  bitterly,  "  and  the 
chimney  lying  out  in  the  road !  Do  you  want  to  suf- 
focate us  all,  or  is  the  beer  still  in  your  head?  It's 
your  evil  doings,  Richard  Budden,  and  others  like 
you,  that  have  brought  this  upon  us.  If  Mr.  Wem- 
bley would  but  come  in  and  pray !  " 

Her  husband  scoffed.  He  was  dressed  only  in  his 
shirt  and  trousers,  his  hair  rough,  his  braces  hanging 
down  behind. 

"  Come  in  and  pray !  "  he  repeated.  "  Not  he ! 
Not  Mr.  Wembley!  He's  safe  tucked  up  in  his  bed, 
shivering  with  fear,  I'll  bet  you.  He's  not  getting 
his  feet  wet  to  save  a  body  or  lend  a  hand  here.  Souls 
are  his  job.  You  let  the  preacher  alone,  mother,  and 
tell  us  what  we're  going  to  do  with  this  gentleman." 

"  The  Lord  only  knows !  "  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"  Can  I  hire  a  motor-car  from  anywhere  near?  " 
Gerald  asked. 

"  There's  motor-cars,  right  enough,"  the  innkeeper 
replied,  "  but  not  many  as  would  be  fools  enough  to 
take  one  out.  You  couldn't  see  the  road,  and  I  doubt 
if  one  of  them  plaguey  things  would  stir  in  this 
storm." 

"  Such  nonsense  as  you  talk,  Richard  Budden !  "  his 
wife  exclaimed  sharply.  "  It's  twenty  minutes  past 
three  of  the  clock,  and  there's  light  coming  on  us 
fast.  If  so  be  as  the  young  gentleman  knows  folks 
round  about  here,  or  happens  to  live  nigh,  why 
shouldn't  he  take  one  of  them  motor-cars  and  get 
away  to  some  decent  place?  It'll  be  better  for  the 
poor  gentleman  than  lying  here  in  a  house  smitten  by 
the  Lord." 


24       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Gerald  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet.  An  idea  was  form' 
ing  in  his  brain.  His  eyes  were  bright.  He  looked 
at  the  body  of  John  Dunster  upon  the  floor,  and  felt 
once  more  in  his  pocket. 

"  How  far  off  is  the  garage?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  right  across  the  way,"  the  innkeeper  replied, 
"  a  speculation  of  Neighbour  Martin's,  and  a  foolish 
one  it  do  seem  to  me.  He's  two  cars  there,  and  one 
he  lets  to  the  Government  for  delivering  the 
mails." 

Gerald  felt  in  his  pocket  and  produced  a  sover- 
eign. 

"  Give  this,"  he  said,  "  to  any  man  you  can  find 
who  will  go  across  there  and  bring  me  a  car  —  the 
most  powerful  they've  got,  if  there's  any  difference. 
Tell  them  I'll  pay  well.  This  —  my  friend  will  be 
much  better  at  home  with  me  than  in  a  strange  place 
when  he  comes  to  his  senses." 

"  It's  sound  common  sense,"  the  woman  declared. 
"  Be  off  with  you,  Richard." 

The  man  was  looking  at  the  coin  covetously,  but 
his  wife  pushed  him  away. 

"  It's  not  a  sovereign  you'll  be  taking  from  the 
gentleman  for  a  little  errand  like  that,"  she  insisted 
sharply.  "  He  shall  pay  us  for  what  he's  had  when 
he  goes,  and  welcome,  and  if  so  be  that  he's  willing 
to  make  it  a  sovereign,  to  include  the  milk  and  the 
brandy  and  the  confusion  we've  been  put  to  this  night, 
well  and  good.  It's  a  heavy  reckoning,  maybe,  but 
the  night  calls  for  it.  We'll  see  about  that  after- 
wards. Get  along  with  you,  I  say,  Richard." 

"  I'll  be  wet  through,"  the  man  muttered. 

"  And  serve  you  right !  "  the  woman  exclaimed. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       25 

"  If  there's  a  man  in  this  village  to-night  whose 
clothes  are  dry,  it's  a  thing  for  him  to  be  ashamed 
of." 

The  innkeeper  reluctantly  departed.  They  heard 
the  roar  of  the  wind  as  the  door  was  opened  and 
closed.  The  woman  poured  out  another  glass  of  milk 
and  brought  it  to  Gerald. 

"  A  godless  man,  mine,"  she  said  grimly.  "  If  so 
happen  as  Mr.  Wembley  had  come  to  these  parts  years 
ago,  I'd  have  seen  myself  in  my  grave  before  I'd  have 
married  a  publican.  But  it's  too  late  now.  We're 
mostly  too  late  about  the  things  that  count  in  this 
world.  So  it's  your  friend  that's  been  stricken  down, 
young  man.  A  well-living  man,  I  hope?  " 

Gerald  shivered  ever  so  slightly.  He  drank  the 
milk,  however.  He  felt  that  he  might  need  his 
strength. 

"  What  train  might  you  have  been  on  ?  "  the  woman 
continued.  "  There's  none  due  on  this  line  that  we 
knew  of.  David  Bass,  the  station-master,  was  here 
but  two  hours  ago  and  said  he'd  finished  for  the  night, 
and  praised  the  Lord  for  that.  The  goods  trains 
had  all  been  stopped  at  Ipswich,  and  the  first  passen- 
ger train  was  not  due  till  six  o'clock." 

Gerald  shook  his  head  with  an  affectation  of  weari- 
ness. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't  remember 
anything  about  it.  We  were  hours  late,  I  think." 

The  woman  was  looking  down  at  the  unconscious 
man.  Gerald  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  stood  by  her 
side.  The  face  of  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster,  even  in  un- 
consciousness, had  something  in  it  of  strength  and 
purpose.  The  shape  of  his  head,  the  squareness  of 


26       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

his  jaws,  the  straightness  of  his  thick  lips,  all  seemed 
to  speak  of  a  hard  and  inflexible  disposition.  His 
hair  was  coal  black,  coarse,  and  without  the  slightest 
sprinkling  of  grey.  He  had  the  neck  and  throat  of  a 
fighter.  But  for  that  single,  livid,  blue  mark  across 
his  forehead,  he  carried  with  him  no  signs  of  his  acci- 
dent. He  was  a  little  inclined  to  be  stout.  There 
was  a  heavy  gold  chain  stretched  across  his  waist- 
coat. From  where  he  lay,  the  shining  handle  of  his 
revolver  protruded  from  his  hip  pocket. 

"  Sakes  alive !  "  the  woman  muttered,  as  she  looked 
down.  "  What  does  he  carry  a  thing  like  that  for  — 
in  a  peaceful  country,  too ! " 

"  It  was  just  an  idea  of  his,"  Gerald  answered. 
"  We  were  going  abroad  in  a  day  or  two.  He  was  al- 
ways nervous.  If  you  like,  I'll  take  it  away." 

He  stooped  down  and  withdrew  it  from  the  uncon- 
scious man's  pocket.  He  started  as  he  discovered  that 
it  was  loaded  in  every  chamber. 

"  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  them  things,"  the  woman 
declared.  "  It's  the  men  of  evil  ways,  who've  no 
trust  in  the  Lord,  who  need  that  sort  of  protec- 
tion." 

They  heard  the  door  pushed  open,  the  howl  of  wind 
down  the  passage,  and  the  beating  of  rain  upon 
the  stone  flags.  Then  it  was  softly  closed  again. 
The  landlord  staggered  into  the  room,  followed  by  a 
young  man. 

"  This  'ere  is  Mr.  Martin's  chaffer,"  he  announced. 
"  You  can  tell  him  what  you  want  yerself." 

Gerald  turned  almost  eagerly  towards  the  lew- 
comer. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  the  other  side  of  Holt,"  he  said, 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       27 

"  and  get  my  friend  —  get  this  gentleman  away  from 
here  —  get  him  home,  if  possible.  Can  you  take 
me?" 

The  chauffeur  looked  doubtful. 

"  I'm  afraid  of  the  roads,  sir,"  he  replied. 
"  There's  talk  about  many  bridges  down,  and  trees, 
and  there's  floods  out  everywhere.  There's  half  a 
foot  of  water,  even,  across  the  village  street  now. 
I'm  afraid  we  shouldn't  get  very  far." 

"  Look  here,"  Gerald  begged  eagerly,  "  let's  make 
a  shot  at  it.  I'll  pay  you  double  the  hire  of  the  car, 
and  I'll  be  responsible  for  any  damage.  I  want  to 
get  out  of  this  beastly  place.  Let's  get  somewhere, 
at  any  rate,  towards  a  civilised  country.  I'll  see 
you  don't  lose  anything.  I'll  give  you  a  five  pound 
note  for  yourself  if  we  get  as  far  as  Holt." 

"  I'm  on,"  the  young  man  agreed  shortly.  "  It's 
an  open  car,  you  know." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  Gerald  replied.  "  I  can 
stick  it  in  front  with  you,  and  we  can  cover  —  him 
up  in  the  tonneau." 

"  You'll  wait  until  the  doctor  comes  back  ?  "  the 
landlord  asked. 

"  And  why  should  they  ? "  his  wife  interposed 
sharply.  "  Them  doctors  are  all  the  same.  He'll 
try  and  keep  the  poor  gentlemari  here  for  the  sake 
of  a  few  extra  guineas,  and  a  miserable  place  for 
him  to  open  his  eyes  upon,  even  if  the  rest  of  the  roof 
holds,  which  for  my  part  I'm  beginning  to  doubt. 
They'd  have  to  move  him  from  here  with  the  day- 
light, anyhow.  He  can't  lie  in  the  bar  parlour  all 
day,  can  he  ?  " 

"  It   don't   seem   right,   somehow,"   the   man   com- 


28       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

plained  doggedly.  "  The  doctor  didn't  say  anything 
about  having  him  moved." 

"  You  get  the  car,"  Gerald  ordered  the  young  man. 
"  I'll  take  the  whole  responsibility." 

The  chauffeur  silently  left  the  room.  Gerald  put 
a  couple  of  sovereigns  upon  the  mantelpiece. 

"  My  friend  is  a  man  of  somewhat  peculiar  tem- 
perament," he  said  quietly.  "  If  he  finds  himself  at 
home  in  a  comfortable  room  when  he  comes  to  his 
senses,  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  will  have  a  better 
chance  of  recovery.  He  cannot  possibly  be  made 
comfortable  here,  and  he  will  feel  the  shock  of  what 
has  happened  all  the  more  if  he  finds  himself  still  in 
the  neighbourhood  when  he  opens  his  eyes.  If  there  is 
any  change  in  his  condition,  we  can  easily  stop  some- 
where on  the  way." 

The  woman  pocketed  the  two  sovereigns. 

"  That's  common  sense,  sir,"  she  agreed  heartily, 
"  and  I'm  sure  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you.  If 
we  had  a  decent  room,  and  a  roof  above  it,  you'd  be 
heartily  welcome,  but  as  it  is,  this  is  no  place  for 
a  sick  man,  and  those  that  say  different  don't  know 
what  they  are  talking  about.  That's  a  real  careful 
young  man  who's  going  to  take  you  along  in  the 
motor-car.  He'll  get  you  there  safe,  if  any  one  will." 

"  What  I  say  is,"  her  husband  protested  sullenly, 
"  that  we  ought  to  wait  for  the  doctor's  orders. 
I'm  against  seeing  a  poor  body  like  that  jolted  across 
the  country  in  an  open  motor-car,  in  his  state.  I'm 
not  sure  that  it's  for  his  good." 

"  And  what  business  is  it  of  yours,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  "  the  woman  demanded  sharply.  "  You  get 
up-stairs  and  begin  moving  the  furniture  from  where 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       29 

the  rain's  coming  sopping  in.  And  if  so  be  you  can 
remember  while  you  do  it  that  this  is  a  judgment 
that's  come  upon  us,  why,  so  much  the  better.  We 
are  evil-doers,  all  of  us,  though  them  as  likes  the  easy 
ways  generally  manage  to  forget  it." 

The  man  retreated  silently.  The  woman  sat  down 
upon  a  stool  and  waited.  Gerald  sat  opposite  to  her, 
the  battered  dressing-case  upon  his  knees.  Between 
them  was  stretched  the  body  of  the  unconscious  man. 

"  Are  you  used  to  prayer,  young  sir?  "  the  woman 
asked. 

Gerald  shook  his  head,  and  the  woman  did  not 
pursue  the  subject.  Only  once  her  eyes  were  half 
closed  and  her  words  drifted  across  the  room. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  this  man,  a  sinner !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  My  advice  to  you,  sir,  is  to  chuck  it !  " 

Gerald  turned  towards  the  chauffeur  by  whose  side 
he  was  seated  a  little  stiffly,  for  his  limbs  were  numbed 
with  the  cold  and  exhaustion.  The  morning  had 
broken  with  a  grey  and  uncertain  light.  A  vapor- 
ous veil  of  mist  seemed  to  have  taken  the  place, of  the 
darkness.  Even  from  the  top  of  the  hill  where  the 
car  had  come  to  a  standstill,  there  was  little  to  be 
seen. 

"  We  must  have  come  forty  miles  already,"  the 
chauffeur  continued,  "  what  with  going  out  of  our 
way  all  the  time  because  of  the  broken  bridges. 
I'm  pretty  well  frozen  through,  and  as  for  him," 
he  added,  jerking  his  thumb  across  his  shoulder,  "  it 
seems  to  me  you're  taking  a  bit  of  a  risk." 

"  The  doctor  said  he  would  remain  in  exactly  the 
same  condition  for  twenty-four  hours,"  Gerald  de- 
clared. 

"  Yes,  but  he  didn't  say  anything  about  shaking 
him  up  over  forty  miles  of  rough  road,"  the  other 
protested.  "  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  he  continued, 
in  a  slightly  changed  tone ;  "  it  isn't  my  business,  of 
course,  but  I'm  fairly  done.  It  don't  seem  reasonable 
to  stick  at  it  like  this.  There's  Holt  village  not  a 
mile  away,  and  a  comfortable  inn  and  a  fire  waiting. 
I  thought  that  was  as  far  as  you  wanted  to  come. 
We  might  lie  up  there  for  a  few  hours,  at  any  rate." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       31 

His  passenger  slipped  down  from  his  place,  .and, 
lifting  the  rug,  peered  into  the  tonneau  of  the  car, 
over  which  they  had  tied  a  hood.  To  all  appear- 
ance, the  condition  of  the  man  who  lay  there  was 
unchanged.  There  was  a  slightly  added  blueness 
about  the  lips  but  his  breathing  was  still  perceptible. 
It  seemed  even  a  little  stronger.  Gerald  resumed  his 
seat. 

"  It  isn't  worth  while  to  stay  at  Holt,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  We  are  scarcely  seven  miles  from  home 
now.  Sit  still  for  a  few  minutes  and  get  your 
wind." 

"  Only  seven  miles,"  the  chauffeur  repeated  more 
cheerfully.  "  That's  something,  anyway." 

"  And  all  downhill." 

"  Towards  the  sea,  then  ?  " 

"  Straight  to  the  sea,"  Gerald  told  him.  "  The 
place  we  are  making  for  is  St.  David's  Hall,  near 
Salthouse." 

The  chauffeur  seemed  a  little  startled. 

"Why,   that's    Squire   Fentolin's   house!" 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  That  is  where  we  are  going.  You  follow  this 
road  almost  straight  ahead." 

The  chauffeur  slipped  in  the   clutch. 

"Oh,  I  know  the  way  now,  -si*,  right  enough!" 
he  exclaimed.  "  There's  Salthouse  marsh  to  cross, 
though.  I  don't  know  about  that." 

"  We  shall  manage  that  all  right,"  Gerald  de- 
clared. "  We've  more  light  now,  too." 

They  both  looked  around.  During  the  last  few 
minutes  the  late  morning  seemed  to  have  forced  its 
way  through  the  clouds.  They  had  a  dim,  phan- 


32       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

tasmagoric  view  of  the  stricken  country :  a  watery 
plain,  with  here  and  there  great  patches  of  fields, 
submerged  to  the  hedges,  and  houses  standing  out 
amidst  the  waste  of  waters  like  toy  dwellings.  There 
were  whole  plantations  of  uprooted  trees.  Close  to 
the  road,  on  their  left,  was  a  roofless  house,  and  a 
family  of  children  crying  underneath  a  tarpaulin 
shelter.  As  they  crept  on,  the  wind  came  to  them 
with  a  brackish  flavour,  salt  with  the  sea.  The  chauf- 
feur was  gazing  ahead  doubtfully. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  the  marsh,"  he  grumbled. 
"  Can't  see  the  road  at  all.  However,  here  goes." 

"  Another  half-hour,"  Gerald  assured  him  encour- 
agingly, "  and  we  shall  be  at  St.  David's  Hall.  You 
can  have  as  much  rest  as  you  like  then." 

They  were  facing  the  wind  now,  and  conversation 
became  impossible.  Twice  they  had  to  pull  up  sharp 
and  make  a  considerable  detour,  once  on  account  of 
a  fallen  tree  which  blocked  the  road,  and  another 
time  because  of  the  yawning  gap  where  a  bridge  had 
fallen  away.  Gerald,  however,  knew  every  inch  of 
the  country  they  were  in  and  was  able  to  give  the 
necessary  directions.  They  began  to  meet  farm  wag- 
ons now,  full  of  people  who  had  been  driven  from  their 
homes.  Warnings  and  information  as  to  the  state  of 
the  roads  were  shouted  to  them  continually.  Pres- 
ently they  came  to  the  last  steep  descent,  and  emerged 
from  the  devastated  fragment  of  a  wood  almost  on  to 
the  sea  level.  The  chauffeur  clapped  on  his  brakes 
and  stopped  short. 

"  My  God ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Here's  more 
trouble !  " 

Gerald  for  a  moment  was  speechless.     They  seemed 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       33 

to  have  come  suddenly  upon  a  huge  plain  of  waters, 
an  immense  lake  reaching  as  far  as  they  could  see 
on  either  side.  The  road  before  them  stretched  like 
a  ribbon  for  the  next  three  miles.  Here  and  there 
it  disappeared  and  reappeared  again.  In  many  places 
it  was  lapped  by  little  waves.  Everywhere  the 
hedges  were  either  altogether  or  half  under  water.  In 
the  distance  was  one  farmhouse,  only  the  roof  of 
which  was  visible,  and  from  which  the  inhabitants 
were  clambering  into  a  boat.  And  beyond,  with 
scarcely  a  break  save  for  the  rising  of  one  strangely- 
shaped  hill,  was  the  sea.  Gerald  pointed  with  his 
finger. 

"  There's  St.  David's  Hall,"  he  said,  "  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hill.  The  road  seems  all  right." 

"  Does  it !  "  the  chauffeur  grunted.  "  It's  under 
water  more  than  half  the  way,  and  Heaven  knows  how 
deep  it  is  at  the  sides !  I'm  not  going  to  risk  my 
life  along  there.  I  am  going  to  take  the  car  back 
to  Holt." 

His  hand  was  already  upon  the  reverse  lever,  but 
Gerald  gripped  it. 

"  Look  here,"  he  protested,  "  we  haven't  come  all 
this  way  to  turn  back.  You  don't  look  like  a  cow- 
ard." 

"  I  am  not  a  coward,  sir,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 
"  Neither  am  I  a  fool.  I  don't  see  any  use  in  risking 
our  lives  and  my  master's  motor-car,  because  you 
want  to  get  home.'* 

"  Naturally,"  Gerald  answered  calmly,  "  but  re- 
member this.  I  am  responsible  for  your  car  —  not 
you.  Mr.  Fentolin  is  my  uncle." 

The  chauffeur  nodded  shortly. 


34       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  You're  Mr.  Gerald  Fentolin,  aren't  you,  sir  ?  " 
he  remarked.  "  I  thought  I  recognised  you." 

"  I  am,"  Gerald  admitted.  "  We've  had  a  rough 
journey,  but  it  doesn't  seem  sense  to  turn  back  now, 
does  it,  with  the  house  in  sight  ?  " 

"  That's  all  very  well,  sir,"  the  chauffeur  objected 
doubtfully,  "  but  I  don't  believe  the  road's  even  pass- 
able, and  the  floods  seem  to  me  to  be  rising." 

"  Try  it,"  the  young  man  begged.  "  Look  here, 
I  don't  want  to  bribe  you,  or  anything  of  that  sort. 
You  know  you're  coming  out  of  this  well.  It's  a 
serious  matter  for  me,  and  I  shan't  be  likely  to  forget 
it.  I  want  to  take  this  gentleman  to  St.  David's 
Hall  and  not  to  a  hospital.  You've  brought  me  here 
so  far  like  a  man.  Let's  go  through  with  it.  If  the 
worst  comes  to  the  worst,  we  can  both  swim,  I  sup- 
pose, and  we  are  not  likely  to  get  out  of  our  depth." 

The  chauffeur  moved  his   head  backwards. 

"How  about  him?" 

"  He  must  take  his  chance,"  Gerald  replied. 
"  He's  all  right  where  he  is.  The  car  won't  upset 
and  there  are  plenty  of  people  who'll  see  if  we  get 
into  trouble.  Come,  let's  make  a  dash  for  it." 

The  chauffeur  thrust  in  his  clutch  and  settled  him- 
self down.  They  glided  off  along  that  winding 
stretch  of  road.  To  its  very  edge,  on  either  side  of 
them,  so  close  that  they  could  almost  touch  it,  came 
the  water,  water  which  stretched  as  far  as  they  could 
see,  swaying,  waveless,  sinister-looking.  Even  Ger- 
ald, after  his  first  impulse  of  wonder,  kept  his  eyes 
averted  and  fixed  upon  the  road  ahead.  Soon  they 
reached  a  place  where  the  water  met  in  front.  There 
were  only  the  rows  of  white  palings  on  either  side  to 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       35 

guide  them.  The  chauffeur  muttered  to  himself  as 
he  changed  to  his  first  speed. 

"  If  the  engine  gets  stopped,"  he  said,  "  I  don't 
know  how  we  shall  get  out  of  this." 

They  emerged  on  the  other  side.  For  some  time 
they  had  a  clear  run.  Then  suddenly  the  driver 
clapped  on  his  brakes. 

"  My  God ! "  he  cried.  "  We  can't  get  through 
that ! " 

In  front  of  them  for  more  than  a  hundred  yards 
the  water  seemed  suddenly  to  have  flowed  across  the 
road.  Still  a  mile  distant,  perched  on  a  ridge  of  that 
strangely-placed  hill,  was  their  destination. 

"  It  can't  be  done,  sir ! "  the  man  groaned. 
"  There  isn't  a  car  ever  built  could  get  through  that. 
See,  it's  nearly  up  to  the  top  of  those  posts.  I  must 
put  her  in  the  reverse  and  get  back,  even  if  we  have 
to  wait  on  the  higher  part  of  the  road  for  a  boat." 

He  glanced  behind,  and  a  second  cry  broke  from 
his  Kps.  Gerald  stood  up  in  his  place.  Already  the 
road  which  had  been  clear  a  few  minutes  before  was 
hidden.  The  water  was  washing  almost  over  the  tops 
of  the  white  posts  behind  them.  Little  waves  were 
breaking  against  the  summit  of  the  raised  bank. 

"  We're  cut  off ! "  the  chauffeur  exclaimed. 
"  What  a  fool  I  was  to  try  this !  There's  the  tide 
coming  in  as  well !  " 

Gerald  sat  down  in  his  place. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  go  back,  whether 
we  want  to  or  not.  It's  much  worse  behind  there 
than  it  is  in  front.  There's  only  one  chance.  Go 
for  it  straight  ahead  in  your  first  speed.  It  may  not 
stop  the  engine.  In  any  case,  it  will  be  worse  pres- 


36       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

ently.  There's  no  use  funking  it.  If  the  worst  hap- 
pens, we  can  sit  in  the  car.  The  water  won't  be 
above  our  heads  and  there  are  some  boats  about. 
Blow  your  horn  well  first,  in  case  there's  any  one 
within  hearing,  and  then  go  for  it." 

The  chauffeur  obeyed.  They  hissed  and  splut- 
tered into  the  water.  Soon  all  trace  of  the  road  was 
completely  lost.  They  steered  only  by  the  tops  of 
the  white  posts. 

"  It's  getting  deeper,"  the  man  declared.  "  It's 
within  an  inch  or  two  of  the  bonnet  now.  Hold  on." 

A  wave  broke  almost  over  them  but  the  engine  con- 
tinued its  beat. 

"  If  we  stop  now,"  he  gasped,  "  we're  done !  " 

The  engine  began  to  knock. 

"  Stick  at  it,"  Gerald  cried,  rising  in  his  place  a 
little.  "  Look,  there's  only  one  post  lower  than  the 
last  one  that  we  passed.  They  get  higher  all  the 
time,  ahead.  You  can  almost  see  the  road  in  front 
there.  Now,  in  with  your  gear  again,  and  stick  at 
it." 

Another  wave  broke,  this  time  completely  over  them. 
They  listened  with  strained  ears  —  the  engine  con- 
tinued to  beat.  They  still  moved  slowly.  Then  there 
was  a  shock.  The  wheel  had  struck  something  in  the 
road  —  a  great  stone  or  rock.  The  chauffeur  thrust 
the  car  out  of  gear.  The  engine  still  beat.  Gerald 
leaped  from  the  car.  The  water  was  over  his  knees. 
He  crossed  in  front  of  the  bonnet  and  stooped  down. 

"  I've  got  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  tugging  hard.  "  It's 
a  stone." 

He  moved  it,  rolled  it  on  one  side,  and  pushed  at 
the  wheel  of  the  car  as  his  companion  put  in  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       37 

first  speed.  They  started  again.  He  jumped  back 
into  his  place. 

"  We've  done  it,  all  right !  "  he  cried.  "  Don't  you 
see?  It's  getting  lower  all  the  time." 

The  chauffeur  had  lost  his  nerve.  His  cheeks  were 
pale,  his  teeth  were  chattering.  The  engine,  however, 
was  still  beating.  Gradually  the  pressure  of  the 
water  grew  less.  In  front  of  them  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  road.  They  drew  up  at  the  top  of  a 
little  bridge  over  one  of  the  dikes.  Gerald  uttered 
a  brief  exclamation  of  triumph. 

"We're  safe!"  he  almost  sobbed.  "There's  the 
road,  straight  ahead  and  round  to  the  right.  There's 
no  more  water  anywhere  near." 

They  had  left  the  main  part  of  the  flood  behind 
them.  There  were  still  great  pools  in  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  huge  masses  of  seaweed  had  been  carried 
up  and  were  lying  in  their  track.  There  was  no  more 
water,  however.  At  every  moment  they  drew  nearer 
to  the  strangely-shaped  hill  with  its  crown  of  trees. 

"  The  house  is  on  the  other  side,"  Gerald  pointed 
out.  "  We  can  go  through  the  lodge  gates  at  the 
back  here.  The  ascent  isn't  so  steep." 

They  turned  sharply  to  the  right,  along  another 
stretch  of  straight  road  set  with  white  posts,  ending 
before  a  red  brick  lodge  and  a  closed  gate.  They 
blew  the  horn  and  a  gardener  came  out.  He  gazed 
at  them  in  amazement. 

"  It's  all  right,"  Gerald  cried.  "  Let  us  through 
quickly,  Foulds.  We've  a  gentleman  in  behind  who's 
ill." 

The  man  swung  open  the  gate  with  a  respectful 
salute.  They  made  their  way  up  a  winding  drive 


38       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

of  considerable  length,  and  at  last  they  came  to  a 
broad,  open  space  almost  like  a  platform.  On  their 
left  were  the  marshes,  and  beyond,  the  sea.  Along 
their  right  stretched  the  long  front  of  an  Elizabethan 
mansion.  They  drew  up  in  front  of  the  hall  door. 
Their  coming  had  been  observed,  and  servants  were 
already  waiting.  Gerald  sprang  to  the  ground. 

"  There's  a  gentleman  in  behind  who's  ill,"  he  ex- 
plained to  the  butler.  "  He  has  met  with  an  accident 
on  the  way.  Three  or  four  of  you  had  better  carry 
him  up  to  a  bedroom  —  any  one  that  is  ready.  And 
you,  George,"  he  added,  turning  to  a  boy,  "  get  into 
the  car  and  show  this  man  the  way  round  to  the  ga- 
rage, and  then  take  him  to  the  servants'  hall." 

Several  of  the  servants  hastened  to  do  his  bidding, 
and  Gerald  did  his  best  to  answer  the  eager  but  re- 
spectful stream  of  questions.  And  then,  just  as  they 
were  in  the  act  of  lifting  the  still  unconscious  man  on 
to  the  floor  of  the  hall,  came  a  queer  sound  —  a  shrill, 
reverberating  whistle.  They  all  looked  up  the  stairs. 

"  The  master  is  awake,"  Henderson,  the  butler,  re- 
marked, dropping  his  voice  a  little. 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  I  will  go  to  him  at  once,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

Accustomed  though  he  was  to  the  sight  which  he 
was  about  to  face,  Gerald  shivered  slightly  as  he 
opened  the  door  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  room.  A  strange 
sort  of  fear  seemed  to  have  crept  into  his  bearing  and 
expression,  a  fear  of  which  there  had  been  no  traces 
whatever  during  those  terrible  hours  through  which 
he  had  passed  —  not  even  during  that  last  reckless 
journey  across  the  marshes.  He  walked  with  hesitat- 
ing footsteps  across  the  spacious  and  lofty  room. 
He  had  the  air  of  some  frightened  creature  approach- 
ing his  master.  Yet  all  that  was  visible  of  the  despot 
who  ruled  his  whole  household  in  deadly  fear  was  the 
kindly  and  beautiful  face  of  an  elderly  man,  whose 
stunted  limbs  and  body  were  mercifully  concealed. 
He  sat  in  a  little  carriage,  with  a  rug  drawn  closely 
across  his  chest  and  up  to  his  armpits.  His  beauti- 
fully shaped  hands  were  exposed,  and  his  face ;  noth- 
ing else.  His  hair  was  a  silvery  white ;  his  complex- 
ion parchment-like,  pallid,  entirely  colourless.  His 
eyes  were  a  soft  shade  of  blue.  His  features  were  so 
finely  cut  and  chiselled  that  they  resembled  some  ex- 
quisite piece  of  statuary.  He  smiled  as  his  nephew 
came  slowly  towards  him.  One  might  almost  have 
fancied  that  the  young  man's  abject  state  was  a  source 
of  pleasure  to  him. 

"  So  you   are  back  again,  my   dear   Gerald.     A 


40       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

pleasant  surprise,  indeed,  but  what  is  the  meaning  of 
it?     And  what  of  my  little  commission,  eh?  " 

The  young  man's  face  was  dark  and  sullen.  He 
spoke  quickly  but  without  any  sign  of  eagerness  or 
interest  in  the  information  he  vouchsafed. 

"  The  storm  has  stopped  all  the  trains,"  he  said. 
"  The  boat  did  not  cross  last  night,  and  in  any  case 
I  couldn't  have  reached  Harwich.  As  for  your  com- 
mission, I  travelled  down  from  London  alone  with  the 
man  you  told  me  to  spy  upon.  I  could  have  stolen 
anything  he  had  if  I  had  been  used  to  the  work.  As 
it  was  —  I  brought  the  man  himself." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  delicate  fingers  played  with  the  han- 
dle of  his  chair.  The  smile  had  passed  from  his 
lips.  He  looked  at  his  nephew  in  gentle  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  protested,  "  come,  come,  be 
careful  what  you  are  saying.  You  have  brought  the 
man  himself!  So  far  as  my  information  goes,  Mr. 
John  P.  Dunster  is  charged  with  a  very  important 
diplomatic  commission.  He  is  on  his  way  to  Cologne, 
%nd  from  what  1  know  aoout  the  man,  2  think  that  it 
would  require  more  than  your  persuasions  to  induce 
him  to  break  off  his  journey.  You  do  not  really  wish 
me  to  believe  that  you  have  brought  him  here  as  a 
guest?" 

"  I  was  at  Liverpool  Street  Station  last  night," 
Gerald  declared.  "  I  had  no  idea  how  to  accost  him, 
and  as  to  stealing  any  of  his  belongings,  I  couldn't 
have  done  it.  You  must  hear  how  fortune  helped  me, 
though.  Mr.  Dunster  missed  the  train ;  so  did  I  — 
purposely.  He  ordered  a  special.  I  asked  permis- 
sion to  travel  with  him.  I  told  him  a  lie  as  to  how 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       41 

I  had  missed  the  train.  I  hated  it,  but  it  was  neces- 
sary." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  approvingly. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  to  trifle  with  the  truth 
is  always  unpleasant.  Besides,  you  are  a  Fentolin, 
and  our  love  of  truth  is  proverbial.  But  there  are 
times,  you  know,  when  for  the  good  of  others  we  must 
sacrifice  our  scruples.  So  you  told  Mr.  Dunster  a 
falsehood." 

"  He  let  me  travel  with  him,"  Gerald  continued. 
"  We  were  all  night  getting  about  half-way  here. 
Then  —  you  know  about  the  storm,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  spread  out  his  hands. 

"  Could  one  avoid  the  knowledge  of  it  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Such  a  sight  has  never  been  seen." 

"  We  found  we  couldn't  get  to  Harwich,"  Gerald 
went  on.  "  They  telegraphed  to  London  and  got 
permission  to  bring  us  to  Yarmouth.  We  were  on 
our  way  to  Norwich,  and  the  train  ran  off  the  line." 

"  An  accident  ?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  exclaimed. 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  Our  train  ran  off  the  line  and  pitched  down  an 
embankment.  Mr.  Dunster  has  concussion  of  the 
brain.  He  and  I  were  taken  to  a  miserable  little  inn 
near  Wymondham.  From  there  I  hired  a  motor-car 
and  brought  him  here." 

"  You  hired  a  motor-car  and  brought  him  here," 
Mr.  Fentolin  repeated  softly.  "  My  dear  boy  —  for- 
give me  if  I  find  this  a  little  hard  to  understand. 
You  say  that  you  have  brought  him  here.  Had  he 
nothing  to  say  about  it?  " 

"  He  was  unconscious  when  we  picked  him  up," 
Gerald  explained.  "  He  is  unconscious  now.  The 


42       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

doctor  said  he  would  remain  so  for  at  least  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  me  that  the  journey 
would  do  him  any  particular  harm.  The  roof  had 
been  stripped  off  the  inn  where  we  were,  and  the  place 
was  quite  uninhabitable,  so  we  should  have  had  to 
have  moved  him  somewhere.  We  put  him  in  the  ton- 
neau  of  the  car  and  covered  him  up.  They  have 
carried  him  now  into  a  bedroom,  and  Sarson  is  look- 
ing after  him." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  quite  silent.  His  eyes  blinked 
once  or  twice,  and  there  was  a  curious  curve  about 
his  lips. 

"  You  have  done  well,  my  boy,"  he  pronounced 
slowly.  "  Your  scheme  of  bringing  him  here  sounds 
a  little  primitive,  but  success  justifies  everything." 

Mr.  Fentolin  raised  to  his  lips  and  blew  softly  a 
little  gold  whistle  which  hung  from  a  chain  attached 
to  his  waistcoat.  Almost  immediately  the  door 
opened.  A  man  entered,  dressed  somberly  in  black, 
whose  bearing  and  demeanour  alike  denoted  the  serv- 
ant, but  whose  physique  was  the  physique  of  a  prize- 
fighter. He  was  scarcely  more  than  five  feet  six  in 
height,  but  his  shoulders  were  extraordinarily  broad. 
He  had  a  short,  bull  neck  and  long,  mighty  arms. 
His  face,  with  the  heavy  jaw  and  small  eyes,  was  the 
face  of  the  typical  fighting  man,  yet  his  features 
seemed  to  have  become  disposed  by  habit  into  an  ex- 
pression of  gentle,  almost  servile  civility. 

"  Meekins,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said,  "  a  visitor  has  ar- 
rived. Do  you  happen  to  have  noticed  what  luggage 
he  brought  ?  " 

"  There  is  one  small  dressing-case,  sir,"  the  man  re- 
plied ;  "  nothing  else  that  I  have  seen." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       43 

"  That  is  all  we  brought,"  Gerald  interposed. 

"  You  will  bring  the  dressing-case  here  at  once," 
Mr.  Fentolin  directed,  "  and  also  my  compliments  to 
Doctor  Sarson,  and  any  pocket-book  or  papers  which 
may  help  us  to  send  a  message  to  the  gentleman's 
friends." 

Meekins  closed  the  door  and  departed.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin turned  back  towards  his  nephew. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  tell  me  why  you  look 
as  though  there  were  ghosts  flitting  about  the  room? 
You  are  not  ill,  I  trust?  " 

"  Tired,  perhaps,"  Gerald  answered  shortly.  "  We 
were  many  hours  in  the  car.  I  have  had  no  sleep." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  face  was  full  of  kindly  sympathy. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  selfish,  in- 
deed !  I  should  not  have  kept  you  here  for  a  moment. 
You  had  better  go  and  lie  down." 

"  I'll  go  directly,"  Gerald  promised.  "  Can  I 
speak  to  you  for  one  moment  first  ?  " 

"Speak  to  me?"  Mr.  Fentolin  repeated,  a  little 
wonderingly.  "  My  dear  Gerald,  is  there  ever  a  mo- 
ment when  I  am  not  wholly  at  your  service?  " 

"  That  fellow  Dunster,  on  the  platform,  the  first 
moment  I  spoke  to  him,  made  me  feel  like  a  cur,"  the 
boy  said,  with  a  sudden  access  of  vigour  in  his  tone. 
"  I  told  him  I  was  on  my  way  to  a  golf  tournament, 
and  he  pointed  to  the  news  about  the  war.  Is  it  true, 
uncle,  that  we  may  be  at  war  at  any  moment?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  A  terrible  reflection,  my  dear  boy,"  he  admitted 
softly,  "  but,  alas !  the  finger  of  probability  points 
that  way." 

"Then  what  about  me?"  Gerald  exclaimed.     "I 


44       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

don't  want  to  complain,  but  listen.  You  dragged  me 
home  from  a  public  school  before  I  could  even  join 
my  cadet  corps.  You've  kept  me  hanging  around 
here  with  a  tutor.  You  wouldn't  let  me  go  to  the 
university.  You've  stopped  my  entering  either  of  the 
services.  I  am  nineteen  years  old  and  useless.  Do 
you  know  what  I  should  do  to-morrow  if  war  broke 
out?  Enlist!  It's  the  only  thing  left  for  me." 

Mr.  Fentolin  was  shocked. 

"  My  dear  boy !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  must  not 
talk  like  that!  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  would  break 
your  mother's  heart.  Enlist,  indeed!  Nothing  of 
the  sort.  You  are  part  of  the  civilian  population  of 
the  country." 

"  Civilian  population  be  d — d !  "  the  boy  suddenly 
cried,  white  with  rage.  "  Uncle,  forgive  me,  I  have 
stood  all  I  can  bear.  If  you  won't  let  me  go  in  for 
the  army  —  I  could  pass  my  exams  to-morrow  —  I'm 
off.  I'll  enlist  without  waiting  for  the  war.  I  can't 
bear  this  idle  life  any  longer." 

Mr.  Fentolin  leaned  a  little  forward  in  his  chair. 

"  Gerald !  "  he  said  softly. 

The  boy  turned  his  head,  turned  it  unwillingly. 
He  had  the  air  of  a  caged  animal  obeying  the  word  of 
his  keeper.  A  certain  savage  uncouthness  seemed  to 
have  fallen  upon  him  during  the  last  few  minutes. 
There  was  something  almost  like  a  snarl  in  his  ex- 
pression. 

"  Gerald !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  repeated. 

Then  it  was  obvious  that  there  was  something  be- 
tween those  two,  some  memory  or  some  living  thing, 
seldom,  if  ever,  to  be  spoken  of,  and  yet  always 
present.  The  boy  began  to  tremble. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       45 

"  You're  a  little  overwrought,  Gerald,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  declared.  "  Sit  quietly  in  my  easy-chair  for  a 
few  moments.  Wait  until  I  have  examined  Mr.  Dun- 
ster's  belongings.  Ah !  Meekins  has  been  prompt,  in- 
deed." 

There  was  a  stealthy  tap  at  the  door.  Meekins 
entered  with  the  small  dressing-case  in  his  hand.  He 
brought  it  over  to  his  master's  chair.  Mr.  Fentolin 
pointed  to  the  floor. 

"  Open  it  there,  Meekins,"  he  directed.  "  I  fancy 
that  the  pocket-book  you  are  carrying  will  prove  more 
interesting.  We  will  just  glance  through  the  dres- 
sing-case first.  Thank  you.  Yes,  you  can  lay  the 
things  upon  the  floor.  A  man  of  Spartan-like  life, 
I  should  imagine  Mr.  Dunster.  A  spare  toothbrush, 
though,  I  am  glad  to  see.  Pyjamas  of  most  unat- 
tractive pattern.  And  what  a  taste  in  shirts ! 
Nothing  but  wearing  apparel  and  -singularly  little  of 
that,  I  fancy." 

The  dressing-case  was  empty,  its  contents  upon  the 
floor.  Mr.  Fentolin  held  out  his  hand  and  took  the 
pocket-book  which  Meekins  had  been  carrying.  It 
was  an  ordinary  morocco  affair,  similar  to  those  is- 
sued by  American  banking  houses  to  enclose  letters  of 
vredit.  One  side  of  it  was  filled  with  notes.  Mr. 
Fentolin  withdrew  them  and  glanced  them  through. 

"  Dear  me !  "  he  murmured.  "  No  wonder  our 
friend  engages  special  trains  t  He  travels  like  a 
prince,  indeed.  Two  thousand  pounds,  or  near  it, 
in  this  little  compartment.  And  here,  I  see,  a  letter, 
a  sealed  letter  with  no  address." 

He  held  it  out  in  front  of  him.  It  was  a  long 
commercial  envelope  of  ordinary  type,  and  although 


46       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  flap  was  secured  with  a  blob  of  sealing  wax,  there 
was  no  particular  impression  upon  it. 

"  We  can  match  this  envelope,  I  think,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  said  softly.  "  The  seal  we  can  copy.  I  think 
that,  for  the  sake  of  others,  we  must  discover  the 
cause  for  this  hurried  journey  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
John  P.  Dunster." 

With  his  long,  delicate  forefinger  Mr.  Fentolin  slit 
the  envelope  and  withdrew  the  single  sheet  of  paper 
which  it  contained.  There  were  a  dozen  lines  of  writ- 
ten matter,  and  what  appeared  to  be  a  dozen  signa- 
tures appended.  Mr.  Fentolin  read  it,  at  first  with 
ordinary  interest.  Then  a  change  came.  The  look 
of  a  man  drawn  out  of  himself,  drawn  out  of  all 
knowledge  of  his  surroundings  or  his  present  state, 
stole  into  his  face.  Literally  he  became  transfixed. 
The  delicate  fingers  of  his  left  hand  gripped  the  sides 
of  his  little  carriage.  His  eyes  shone  as  though 
those  few  written  lines  upon  which  they  were  riveted 
were  indeed  some  message  from  an  unknown,  an  un- 
imagined  world.  Yet  no  word  ever  passed  his  lips. 
There  came  a  time  when  the  tension  seemed  a  little 
relaxed.  With  fingers  which  still  trembled,  he  folded 
up  the  sheet  and  replaced  it  in  the  envelope.  He 
guarded  it  with  both  his  hands  and  sat  quite  still. 
Neither  Gerald  nor  his  servant  moved.  Somehow, 
the  sense  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  suppressed  excitement 
seemed  to  have  become  communicated  to  them.  It 
was  a  little  tableau,  broken  at  last  by  Mr.  Fentolin 
himself. 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  turning  to  Gerald,  "  to 
be  alone.  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  this  docu- 
ment which  Mr.  Dunster  has  brought  across  the  seas, 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       47 

and  which  I  hold  in  my  hands,  is  the  most  amazing 
message  of  modern  times." 

Gerald  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  "  he  asked 
abruptly.  "  Do  you  want  any  one  in  from  the  tele- 
graph room  ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  At  present,"  he  announced,  "  I  am  going  to  re- 
flect. Meekins,  my  chair  to  the  north  window  —  so. 
I  am  going  to  sit  here,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  am  going 
to  look  across  the  sea  and  reflect.  A  very  fortunate 
storm,  after  all,  I  think,  which  kept  Mr.  John  P. 
Dunster  from  the  Harwich  boat  last  night!  Leave 
me,  Gerald,  for  a.  time.  Stand  behind  my  chair, 
Meekins,  and  see  that  no  one  enters." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  in  his  chair,  his  hands  still  grip- 
ping the  wonderful  document,  his  eyes  travelling  over 
the  ocean  now  flecked  with  sunlight.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  horizon.  He  looked  steadily  east- 
ward. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  opened  his  eyes  upon  strange 
surroundings.  He  found  himself  lying  upon  a  bed 
deliciously  soft,  with  lace-edged  sheets  and  lavender- 
perfumed  bed  hangings.  Through  the  discreetly 
opened  upper  window  came  a  pleasant  and  ozone- 
laden  breeze.  The  furniture  in  the  room  was  mostly 
of  an  old-fashioned  type,  some  of  it  of  oak,  curiously 
carved,  and  most  of  it  surmounted  with  a  coat  of 
arms.  The  apartment  was  lofty  and  of  almost 
palatial  proportions.  The  whole  atmosphere  of  the 
place  breathed  comfort  and  refinement.  The  only 
thing  of  which  he  did  not  wholly  approve  was  the  face 
of  the  nurse  who  rose  silently  to  her  feet  at  his  mur- 
mured question: 

"Where  am  I?" 

She  felt  his  forehead,  altered  a  bandage  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  took  his  wrist  between  her  fingers. 

"  You  have  been  ill,"  she  said.  "  There  was  a  rail- 
way accident.  You  are  to  lie  quite  still  and  not  say 
a  word.  I  am  going  to  fetch  the  doctor  now.  He 
wished  to  see  you  directly  you  spoke." 

Mr.  Dunster  dozed  again  for  several  moments. 
When  he  reopened  his  eyes,  a  man  was  standing  by 
his  bedside,  a  short  man  with  a  black  beard  and  gold- 
rimmed  glasses.  Mr.  Dunster,  in  this  first  stage  of 
his  convalescence,  was  perhaps  difficult  to  please,  for 
he  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  doctor,  either. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       49 

"  Please  tell  me  where  I  am?  "  he  begged. 

"  You  have  been  in  a  railway  accident,"  the  doctor 
told  him,  "  and  you  were  brought  here  afterwards." 

"  In  a  railway  accident,"  Mr.  Dunster  repeated. 
"  Ah,  yes,  I  remember !  I  took  a  special  to  Harwich 
—  I  remember  now.  Where  is  my  dressing-bag?  " 

"  It  is  here  by  the  side  of  your  bed." 

"And  my  pocket-book?" 

"  It  is  on  your  dressing-table." 

"  Have  any  of  my  things  been  looked  at  ?  " 

"  Only  so  far  as  was  necessary  to  discover  your 
identity,"  the  doctor  assured  him.  "  Don't  talk  too 
much.  The  nurse  is  bringing  you  some  beef  tea." 

"  When,"  Mr.  Dunster  enquired,  "  shall  I  be  able  to 
continue  my  journey?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  many  things,"  the  doctor 
replied. 

Mr.  Dunster  drank  his  beef  tea  and  felt  consider- 
ably stronger.  His  head  still  ached,  but  his  memory 
was  returning. 

"  There  was  a  young  man  in  the  carriage  with  me," 
he  asked  presently.  "  Mr.  Gerald  something  or  other 
I  think  he  said  his  name  was  ?  " 

"  Fentolin,"  the  doctor  said.  "  He  is  unhurt. 
This  is  his  relative's  house  to  which  you  have  been 
brought." 

Mr.  Dunster  lay  for  a  time  with  knitted  brows. 
Once  more  the  name  of  Fentolin  seemed  somehow 
familiar  to  him,  seemed  somehow  to  bring  with  it 
to  his  memory  a  note  of  warning.  He  looked  around 
the  room  fretfully.  He  looked  into  the  nurse's  face, 
which  he  disliked  exceedingly,  and  he  looked  at  the 
doctor,  whom  he  was  beginning  to  detest. 


5o       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Whose  house  exactly  is  this?  "  he  demanded. 

"  This  is  St.  David's  Hall  —  the  home  of  Mr.  Miles 
Fentolin,"  the  doctor  told  him.  "  The  young  gentle- 
man with  whom  you  were  travelling  is  his  nephew." 

"  Can  I  send  a  telegram  ?  "  Mr.  Dunster  asked,  a 
little  abruptly. 

"Without  a  doubt,"  the  doctor  replied.  "Mr. 
Fentolin  desired  me  to  ask  you  if  there  was  any  one 
whom  you  would  like  to  apprise  of  your  safety." 

Again  the  man  upon  the  bed  lay  quite  still,  with 
knitted  brows.  There  was  surely  something  familiar 
about  that  name.  Was  it  his  fevered  fancy  or  was 
there  also  something  a  little  sinister? 

The  nurse,  who  had  glided  from  the  room,  came 
back  presently  with  some  telegraph  forms.  Mr. 
Dunster  held  out  his  hand  for  them  and  then  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  any  date,  Doctor,  upon  which  I 
can  rely  upon  leaving  here?  " 

"  You  will  probably  be  well  enough  to  travel  on  the 
third  day  from  now,"  the  doctor  assured  him. 

"  The  third  day,"  Mr.  Dunster  muttered.  "  Very 
well." 

He  wrote  out  three  telegrams  and  passed  them 
over. 

"One,"  he  said,  "is  to  New  York,  one  to  The 
Hague,  and  one  to  London.  There  was  plenty  of 
money  in  my  pocket.  Perhaps  you  will  find  it  and 
pay  for  these." 

"  Is  there  anything  more,"  the  doctor  asked,  "  that 
can  be  done  for  your  comfort  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  present,"  Mr.  Dunster  replied. 
"  My  head  aches  now,  but  I  think  that  I  shall  want 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       51 

to  leave  before  three  days  are  up.  Are  you  the  doc- 
tor in  the  neighbourhood?  " 

Sarson  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  physician  to  Mr.  Fentolin's  household,"  he 
answered  quietly.  "  I  live  here.  Mr.  Fentolin  is 
himself  somewhat  of  an  invalid  and  requires  constant 
medical  attention." 

Mr.  Dunster  contemplated  the  speaker  steadfastly. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  I  am  an  Amer- 
ican and  I  am  used  to  plain  speech.  I  am  quite  un- 
used to  being  attended  by  strange  doctors.  I  under- 
stand that  you  are  not  in  general  practice  now. 
Might  I  ask  if  you  are  fully  qualified?  " 

"  I  am  an  M.D.  of  London,"  the  doctor  replied. 
"  You  can  make  yourself  quite  easy  as  to  my  quali- 
fications. It  would  not  suit  Mr.  Fentolin's  purpose 
to  entrust  himself  to  the  care  of  any  one  without  a 
reputation." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Mr.  Dunster  closed  his  eyes. 
His  slumbers,  however,  were  not  altogether  peaceful 
ones.  All  the  time  there  seemed  to  be  a  hammering 
inside  his  head,  and  from  somewhere  back  in  his  ob- 
scured memory  the  name  of  Fentolin  seemed  to  be 
continually  asserting  itself.  From  somewhere  or 
other,  the  amazing  sense  which  sometimes  gives  warn- 
ing of  danger  to  men  of  adventure,  seemed  to  have 
opened  its  feelers.  He  rested  because  he  was  ex- 
hausted, but  even  in  his  sleep  he  was  ill  at  ease. 

The  doctor,  with  the  telegrams  in  his  hand,  made 
his  way  down  a  splendid  staircase,  past  the  long  pic- 
ture gallery  where  masterpieces  of  Van  Dyck  and 
Rubens  frowned  and  leered  down  upon  him ;  descended 
the  final  stretch  of  broad  oak  stairs,  crossed  the  hall, 


52       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

and  entered  his  master's  rooms.  Mr.  Fentolin  was 
sitting  before  the  open  window,  an  easel  in  front  of 
him,  a  palette  in  his  left  hand,  painting  with  deft, 
swift  touches. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  without  looking  around,  "  it 
is  my  friend  the  doctor,  my  friend  Sarson,  M.D.  of 
London,  L.R.C.P.  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  He  brings 
with  him  the  odour  of  the  sick  room.  For  a  moment 
or  two,  just  for  a  moment,  dear  friend,  do  not  disturb 
me.  Do  not  bring  any  alien  thoughts  into  my  brain. 
I  am  absorbed,  you  see  —  absorbed.  It  is  a  strange 
problem  of  colour,  this." 

He  was  silent  for  several  moments,  glancing  repeat- 
edly out  of  the  window  and  back  to  his  canvas,  paint- 
ing all  the  time  with  swift  and  delicate  precision. 

"  Meekins,  who  stands  behind  my  chair,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  continued,  "  even  Meekins  is  entranced.  He 
has  a  soul,  my  friend  Sarson,  although  you  might  not 
think  it.  He,  too,  sees  sometimes  the  colour  in  the 
skies,  the  glitter  upon  the  sands,  the  clear,  sweet 
purity  of  those  long  stretches  of  virgin  water. 
Meekins,  I  believe,  has  a  soul,  only  he  likes  better  to 
see  these  things  grow  under  his  master's  touch  than 
to  wander  about  and  solve  their  riddles  for  himself." 

The  man  remained  perfectly  immovable.  Not  a 
feature  twitched.  Yet  it  was  a  fact  that,  although  he 
stood  where  Mr.  Fentolin  could  not  possibly  observe 
him,  he  never  removed  his  gaze  from  the  canvas. 

"  You  see,  my  medical  friend,  that  there  has  been 
a  great  tide  in  the  night,  following  upon  the  flood? 
Even  our  small  landmarks  are  shifted.  Soon,  in  my 
little  carriage,  I  shall  ride  down  to  the  Tower.  I  shall 
sit  there,  and  I  shall  watch  the  sea.  I  think  that  this 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       53 

evening,  with  the  turn  of  the  tide,  the  spray  may 
reach  even  to  my  windows  there.  I 'shall  paint  again. 
There  is  always  something  fresh  in  the  sea,  you  know 
—  always  something  fresh  in  the  sea.  Like  a  human 
face  —  angry  or  pleased,  sullen  or  joyful.  Some 
people  like  to  paint  the  sea  at  its  calmest  and  most 
beautiful.  Some  people  like  to  see  happy  faces 
around  them.  It  is  not  every  one  who  appreciates 
the  other  things.  It  is  not  quite  like  that  with  me, 
eh,  Sarson?  " 

His  hand  fell  to  his  side.  Momentarily  he  had  fin- 
ished his  work.  He  turned  around  and  eyed  the  doc- 
tor, who  stood  in  taciturn  silence. 

"  Answer.     Answer  me,"  he  insisted. 

The  doctor's  gloomy  face  seemed  darker  still. 

"  You  have  spoken  the  truth,  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "  You  are  not  one  of  the  vulgar  herd  who 
love  to  consort  with  pleasure  and  happiness.  You  are 
one  of  those  who  understand  the  beauty  of  unhappi- 
ness  —  in  others,"  he  added,  with  faint  emphasis. 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled.  His  face  became  almost  like 
the  face  of  one  of  those  angels  of  the  great  Italian 
master. 

"  How  well  you  know  me !  "  he  murmured.  "  My 
humble  effort,  Doctor  —  how  do  you  like  it?" 

The  doctor  bent  over  the  canvas. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  art,"  he  said,  a  little 
roughly.  "  Your  work  seems  to  me  clever  —  a  little 
grotesque,  perhaps ;  a  little  straining  after  the  hard, 
plain  things  which  threaten.  Nothing  of  the  idealist 
in  your  work,  Mr.  Fentolin." 

Mr.  Fentolin  studied  the  canvas  himself  for  a  mo- 
ment. 


54       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  A  clever  man,  Sarson,"  he  remarked  coolly,  "  but 
no  courtier.  Never  mind,  my  work  pleases  me.  It 
gives  me  a  passing  sensation  of  happiness.  Now, 
what  about  our  patient  ?  " 

"  He  recovers,"  the  doctor  pronounced.  "  From 
my  short  examination,  I  should  say  that  he  had  the 
constitution  of  an  ox.  I  have  told  him  that  he  will  be 
up  in  three  days.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  will  be  able, 
if  he  wants  to,  to  walk  out  of  the  house  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head. 

"  We  cannot  spare  him  quite  so  soon,"  he  declared. 
"  We  must  avail  ourselves  of  this  wonderful  chance 
afforded  us  by  my  brilliant  young  nephew.  We  must 
keep  him  with  us  for  a  little  time.  What  is  it  that  you 
have  in  your  hands,  Doctor?  Telegrams,  I  think. 
Let  me  look  at  them." 

The  doctor  held  them  out.  Mr.  Fentolin  took  them 
eagerly  between  his  thin,  delicate  fingers.  Suddenly 
his  face  darkened,  and  became  like  the  face  of  a  spoilt 
and  angry  child. 

"  Cipher !  "  he  exclaimed  furiously.  "  A  cipher 
which  he  knows  so  well  as  to  remember  it,  too !  Never 
mind,  it  will  be  easy  to  decode.  It  will  amuse  me  dur- 
ing the  afternoon.  Very  good,  Sarson.  I  will  take 
charge  of  these." 

"  You  do  not  wish  anything  dispatched?  " 

"  Nothing  at  present,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  "  It 
will  be  well,  I  think,  for  the  poor  man  to  remain  un- 
disturbed by  any  communications  from  his  friends. 
Is  he  restless  at  all?  " 

"  He  wants  to  get  on  with  his  journey." 

"  We  shall  see,"  Mr.  Fentolin  remarked.  "  Now 
feel  my  pulse,  Sarson.  How  am  I  this  morning?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       55 

The  doctor  held  the  thin  wrist  for  a  moment  between 
his  fingers,  and  let  it  go. 

"  In  perfect  health,  as  usual,"  he  announced 
grimly. 

"  Ah,  but  you  cannot  be  sure !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  pro- 
tested. "  My  tongue,  if  you  please." 

He  put  it  out. 

"  Excellent !  " 

"  We  must  make  quite  certain,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued. "  There  are  so  many  people  who  would  miss 
me.  My  place  in  the  world  would  not  be  easily  filled. 
Undo  my  waistcoat,  Sarson.  Feel  my  heart,  please. 
Feel  carefully.  I  can  see  the  end  of  your  stethoscope 
in  your  pocket.  Don't  scamp  it.  I  fancied  this 
morning,  when  I  was  lying  here  alone,  that  there  was 
something  almost  like  a  palpitation  —  a  quicker  beat. 
Be  very  careful,  Sarson.  Now." 

The  doctor  made  his  examination  with  impassive 
face.  Then  he  stepped  back. 

"  There  is  no  change  in  your  condition,  Mr.  Fento- 
lin," he  announced.  "  The  palpitation  you  spoke  of 
is  a  mistake.  '  You  are  in  perfect  health." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed  gently. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I  will  now  amuse  myself  by  a 
gentle  ride  down  to  the  Tower.     You  are  entirely  sat 
isfied,  Sarson?     You  are  keeping  nothing  back  from 
me?" 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  with  grim,  impassive 
face. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  keep  back,"  he  declared. 
"  You  have  the  constitution  of  a  cowboy.  There  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  live  for  another  thirty 
years." 


56       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed,  as  though  a  weight  had  been 
removed  from  his  heart. 

"  I  will  now,"  he  decided,  reaching  forward  for  the 
handle  of  his  carriage,  "  go  down  to  the  Tower.  It 
is  just  possible  that  a  few  days'  seclusion  might  be 
good  for  our  guest." 

The  doctor  turned  silently  away.  There  was  no 
one  there  to  see  his  expression  as  he  walked  towards 
the  door. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  two  men  who  were  supping  together  in  the 
grillroom  at  the  Cafe  Milan  were  talking  with  a  se- 
riousness which  seemed  a  little  out  of  keeping  with  the 
rose-shaded  lamps  and  the  swaying  music  of  the  band 
from  the  distant  restaurant.  Their  conversation  had 
started  some  hours  before  in  the  club  smoking-room 
and  had  continued  intermittently  throughout  the  even- 
ing. It  had  received  a  further  stimulus  when  Richard 
Hamel,  who  had  bought  an  Evening  Standard  on  their 
way  from  the  theatre  a  few  minutes  ago,  came  across 
a  certain  paragraph  in  it  which  he  read  aloud. 

"  Hanged  if  I  understand  things  over  here,  nowa- 
days, Reggie !  "  he  declared,  laying  the  paper  down. 
"  Here's  another  Englishman  imprisoned  in  Germany 
—  this  time  at  a  place  no  one  ever  heard  of  before. 
I  won't  try  to  pronounce  it.  What  does  it  all  mean  ? 
It's  all  very  well  to  shrug  your  shoulders,  but  when 
there  are  eighteen  arrests  within  one  week  on  a 
charge  of  espionage,  there  must  be  something  up." 

For  the  first  time  Reginald  Kinsley  seemed  inclined 
to  discuss  the  subject  seriously.  He  drew  the  paper 
towards  him  and  read  the  little  paragraph,  word  by 
word.  Then  he  gave  some  further  order  to  an  at- 
tentive maitre  d'hotel  and  glanced  around  to  be  sure 
that  they  were  not  overheard. 

"  Look  here,  Dick,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "  you  are  just 
back  from  abroad  and  you  are  not  quite  in  the  hang 


58       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

of  things  yet.     Let  me   ask  you  a  plain  question, 
What  do  you  think  of  us  all?  " 

"  Think  of  you?  "  Hamel  repeated,  a  little  doubt- 
fully. "  Do  you  mean  personally  ?  " 

"  Take  it  any  way  you  like,"  Kinsley  replied. 
"  Look  at  me.  Nine  years  ago  we  played  cricket  in 
the  same  eleven.  I  don't  look  much  like  cricket  now, 
do  I?" 

Hamel  looked  at  his  companion  thoughtfully.  For 
a  man  who  was  doubtless  still  young,  Kinsley  had  cer- 
tainly an  aged  appearance.  The  hair  about  his  tem- 
ples was  grey ;  there  were  lines  about  his  mouth  and 
forehead.  He  had  the  air  of  one  who  lived  in  an  at- 
mosphere of  anxiety. 

"  To  me,"  Hamel  declared  frankly,  "  you  look 
worried.  If  I  hadn't  heard  so  much  of  the  success  of 
your  political,  career  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  I  should 
have  thought  that  things  were  going  badly  with  you." 

"  They've  gone  well  enough  with  me  personally," 
Kinsley  admitted,  "  but  I'm  only  one  of  many.  Pol- 
itics isn't  the  game  it  was.  The  Foreign  Office 
especially  is  ageing  its  men  fast  these  few  years. 
We've  been  going  through  hell,  Hamel,  and  we  are  up 
against  it  now,  hard  up  against  it." 

The  slight  smile  passed  from  the  lips  of  Hamel's 
sunburnt,  good-natured  face.  He  himself  seemed  to 
become  infected  with  something  of  his  companion's 
anxiety. 

"  There's  nothing  seriously  wrong,  is  there,  Reg- 
gie? "  he  asked. 

"  Dick,"  said  Kinsley,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  am  afraid 
there  is.  It's  very  seldom  I  talk  as  plainly  as  this 
to  any  one,  but  you  are  just  the  person  one  can  un- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       59 

burden  oneself  to  a  little ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it's 
rather  a  relief.  As  you  say,  these  eighteen  arrests  in 
one  week  do  mean  something.  Half  of  the  English- 
men who  have  been  arrested  are,  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge, connected  with  our  Secret  Service,  and  they  have 
been  arrested,  in  many  cases,  where  there  are  no  forti- 
fications worth  speaking  of  within  fifty  miles,  on  one 
pretext  or  another.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is  that 
things  are  going  on  in  Germany,  just  at  the  present 
moment,  the  knowledge  of  which  is  of  vital  interest  to 
us." 

"  Then  these  arrests,"  Hamel  remarked,  "  are  really 
bona  fide?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  his  companion  agreed.  "  I 
only  wonder  there  have  not  been  more.  I  am  telling 
you  what  is  a  pretty  open  secret  when  I  tell  you  that 
there  is  a  conference  due  to  be  held  this  week  at  some 
place  or  another  on  the  continent  —  I  don't  know 
where,  myself  —  which  will  have  a  very  important 
bearing  upon  our  future.  We  know  just  as  much  as 
that  and  not  much  more." 

"  A  conference  between  whom  ?  "  Hamel  asked. 

Kinsley  dropped  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper. 

"  We  know,"  he  replied,  "  that  a  very  great  man 
from  Russia,  a  greater  still  from  France,  a  minister 
from  Austria,  a  statesman  from  Italy,  and  an  envoy 
from  Japan,  have  been  invited  to  meet  a  German  min- 
ister whose  name  I  will  not  mention,  even  to  you.  The 
subject  of  their  proposed  discussion  has  never  been 
breathed.  One  can  only  suspect.  When  I  tell  you 
that  no  one  from  this  country  was  invited  to  the  con- 
ference, I  think  you  will  be  able,  broadly  speaking,  to 
divine  its  purpose.  The  clouds  have  been  gathering 


60       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

for  a  good  many  years,  and  we  have  only  buried  our 
heads  a  little  deeper  in  the  sands.  We  have  had  our 
chances  and  wilfully  chucked  them  away.  National 
Service  or  three  more  army  corps  four  years  ago 
would  have  brought  us  an  alliance  which  would  have 
meant  absolute  safety  for  twenty-one  years.  You 
know  what  happened.  We  have  lived  through  many 
rumours  and  escaped,  more  narrowly  than  most 
people  realise,  a  great  many  dangers,  but  there  is 
every  indication  this  time  that  the  end  is  really 
coming." 

"  And  what  will   the   end  be  ?  "   Hamel   enquired 
eagerly.       , 

Kinsley  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  paused  while 
their  glasses  were  filled  with  wine. 

"  It  will  be  in  the  nature  of  a  diplomatic  coup,"  he 
said  presently.  "  Of  that  much  I  feel  sure.  England 
will  be  forced  into  such  a  position  that  she  will  have 
no  alternative  left  but  to  declare  war.  That,  of 
course,  will  be  the  end  of  us.  With  OUK  ridiculously 
small  army  and  absolutely  no  sane  scheme  for  home 
defence,  we  shall  lose  all  that  we  have  worth  fighting 
for  —  our  colonies  —  without  being  able  to  strike 
a  blow.  The  thing  is  so  ridiculously  obvious.  It  has 
been  admitted  time  after  time  by  every  sea  lord  and 
every  commander-in-chief.  We  have  listened  to  it, 
and  that's  all.  Our  fleet  is  needed  under  present  con- 
ditions to  protect  our  own  shores.  There  isn't  a 
single  battleship  which  could  be  safely  spared.  Can- 
ada, Australia,  New  Zealand,  Egypt,  India,  must  take 
care  of  themselves.  I  wonder  when  a  nation  of  the 
world  ever  played  fast  and  loose  with  great  posses- 
sions as  we  have  done !  M 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       61 

"  This  is  a  nice  sort  of  thing  to  hear  almost  one's 
first  night  in  England,"  Hamel  remarked  a  little 
gloomily.  "  Tell  me  some  more  about  this  confer- 
ence. Are  you  sure  that  your  information  is  re- 
liable? " 

"  Our  information  is  miserably  scanty,"  Kinsley  ad- 
mitted. "  Curiously  enough,  the  man  who  must  know 
most  about  the  whole  thing  is  an  Englishman,  one  of 
the  most  curious  mortals  in  the  British  Empire.  A 
spy  of  his  succeeded  in  learning  more  than  any  of  our 
people,  and  without  being  arrested,  too." 

"  And  who  is  this  singular  person  ?  "  Hamel  asked. 

"  A  man  of  whom  you,  I  suppose,  never  heard," 
Kinsley  replied.  "  His  name  is  Fentolin  —  Miles 
Fentolin  —  and  he  lives  somewhere  down  in  Norfolk. 
He  is  one  of  the  strangest  characters  that  ever  lived, 
stranger  than  any  effort  of  fiction  I  ever  met  with, 
He  was  in  the  Foreign  Office  once,  and  every  one  was 
predicting  for  him  a  brilliant  career.  Then  there  was 
an  accident  —  let  me  see,  it  must  have  been  some  six 
or  seven  years  ago  —  and  he  had  to  have  both  his 
legs  amputated.  No  one  knows  exactly  how  the  ac" 
cident  happened,  and  there  was  always  a  certain 
amount  of  mystery  connected  with  it.  Since  then  he 
has  buried  himself  in  the  country.  I  don't  think,  in 
fact,  that  he  ever  moves  outside  his  place ;  but  some- 
how or  other  he  has  managed  to  keep  in  touch  with 
all  the  political  movements  of  the  day." 

"  Fentolin,"  Hamel  repeated  softly  to  himself. 
"  Tell  me,  whereabouts  does  he  live?  " 

"  Quite  a  wonderful  place  in  Norfolk,  I  believe, 
somewhere  near  the  sea.  I've  forgotten  the  name,  for 
the  moment.  He  has  had  wireless  telegraphy  in- 


62       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

stalled ;  he  has  a  telegraph  office  in  the  house,  half-a- 
dozen  private  wires,  and  they  say  that  he  spends  an 
immense  amount  of  money  keeping  in  touch  with 
foreign  politics.  His  excuse  is  that  he  speculates 
largely,  as  I  dare  say  he  does;  but  just  lately," 
Kinsley  went  on  more  slowly,  "  he  has  been  an  object 
of  anxiety  to  all  of  us.  It  was  he  who  sent  the  first 
agent  out  to  Germany,  to  try  and  discover  at  least 
where  this  conference  was  to  be  held.  His  man  re- 
turned in  safety,  and  he  has  one  over  there  now  who 
has  not  been  arrested.  We  seem  to  have  lost  nearly 
all  of  ours." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  man  Fentolin  actu- 
ally possesses  information  which  the  Government 
hasn't  as  to  the  intentions  of  foreign  Powers? " 
Hamel  asked. 

Kinsley  nodded.  There  was  a  slight  flush  upon  his 
pallid  cheeks. 

"  He  not  only  has  it,  but  he  doesn't  mean  to  part 
with  it.  A  few  hundred  years  ago,  when  the  rulers  of 
"this  country  were  men  with  blood  in  their  veins,  he'd 
have  been  given  just  one  chance  to  tell  all  he  knew, 
and  hung  as  a  traitor  if  he  hesitated.  We  don't  do 
that  sort  of  thing  nowadays.  We  rather  go  in  for 
preserving  traitors.  We  permit  them  even  in  our  own 
House  of  Commons.  However,  I  don't  want  to  de- 
press you  and  play  the  alarmist  so  soon  after  your 
return  to  London.  I  dare  say  the  old  country'll 
muddle  along  through  our  time." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  Hamel  begged.  "  There's  no 
other  subject  of  conversation  could  interest  me  half 
as  much.  Have  you  formed  any  idea  yourself  as  to 
the  nature  of  this  conference?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       63 

"  We  all  have  an  idea,"  Kinsley  replied  grimly ; 
"  India  for  Russia ;  a  large  slice  of  China  for  Japan, 
with  probably  Australia  thrown  in;  Alsace-Lorraine 
for  France's  neutrality.  There's  bribery  for  you. 
What's  to  become  of  poor  England  then?  Our 
friends  are  only  human,  after  all,  and  it's  merely  a 
question  of  handing  over  to  them  sufficient  spoil. 
They  must  consider  themselves  first:  that's  the  first 
duty  of  their  politicians  towards  their  country." 

"  You  mean  to  say,"  Hamel  asked,  "  that  you  seri- 
ously believe  that  a  conference  is  on  the  point  of 
being  held  at  which  France  and  Russia  are  to  be  in- 
vited to  consider  suggestions  like  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  there's  no  doubt  about  it,"  Kinsley 
declared.  "  Their  ambassadors  in  London  profess  to 
know  nothing.  That,  of  course,  is  their  reasonable 
attitude,  but  there's  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  con- 
ference has  been  planned.  I  should  say  that  to-night 
we  are  nearer  war,  if  we  can  summon  enough  spirit  to 
fight,  than  we  have  been  since  Fashoda." 

"  Queer  if  I  have  returned  just  in  time  for  the 
scrap,"  Hamel  remarked  thoughtfully.  "  I  was  in 
the  Militia  once,  so  I  expect  I  can  get  a  j  ob,  if  there's 
any  fighting." 

"I  can  get  you  a  better  job  than  fighting  —  one 
you  can  start  on  to-morrow,  too,"  Kinsley  announced 
abruptly,  "  that  is  if  you  really  want  to  help  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  Hamel  insisted.  "  I'm  on  for 
anything." 

"  You  say  that  you  are  entirely  your  own  master 
for  the  next  six  months  ?  " 

"  Or  as  much  longer  as  I  like,"  Hamel  assented. 
"  No  plans  at  all,  except  that  I  might  drift  round  to 


64       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  Norfolk  coast  and  look  up  some  of  the  places 
where  the  governor  used  to  paint.  There's  a  queer 
little  house  —  St.  David's  Tower,  I  believe  they  call  it 

which  really  belongs  to  me.     It  was  given  to  my 

father,  or  rather  he  bought  it,  from  a  man  who  I 
think  must  have  been  some  relative  of  your  friend.  I 
feel  sure  the  name  was  Fentolin." 

Reginald  Kinsley  set  down  his  wine-glass. 
"  Is  your  St.  David's  Tower  anywhere  near  a  place 
called  Salthouse?"  he  asked  reflectively. 

"  That's  the  name  of  the  village,"  Hamel  admitted. 
"  My  father  used  to  spend  quite  a  lot  of  time  in  those 
parts,  and  painted  at  least  a  dozen  pictures  down 
there." 

"  This  is  a  coincidence,"  Reginald  Kinsley  declared, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  Dick, 
I'd  go  down  and  claim  my  property." 

"  Tired  of  me  already  ?  "  Hamel  asked,  smiling. 
Reginald  Kinsley  knocked  the  ash  from  his  ciga- 
rette. 

"  It  isn't  that.  The  fact  is,  that  job  I  was  speak- 
ing to  you  about  was  simply  this.  We  want  some  one 
to  go  down  to  Salthouse  —  not  exactly  as  a  spy,  you 
know,  but  some  one  who  has  his  wits  about  him.  We 
are  all  of  us  very  curious  about  this  man  Fentolin. 
There  are  no  end  of  rumours  which  I  won't  mention  to 
you,  for  they  might  only  put  you  off  the  scent.  But 
the  man  seems  to  be  always  intriguing.  It  wouldn't 
matter  so  much  if  he  were  our  friend,  or  if  he  were  sim- 
ply a  financier,  but  to  tell  you  the  truth,  we  have  cause 
to  suspect  him." 

"  But  he's  an  Englishman,  surely?  "  Hamel  asked. 
*'  The  Fentolin  who  was  my  father's  friend  was  just  a 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       65 

very  wealthy  Norfolk  squire  —  one  of  the  best,  from 
all  I  have  heard." 

"  Miles  Fentolin  is  an  Englishman,"  Kinsley  ad- 
mitted. "  It  is  true,  too,  that  he  comes  of  a  very 
ancient  Norfolk  family.  It  doesn't  do,  however,  to 
build  too  much  upon  that.  From  all  I  can  learn  of 
him,  he  is  a  sort  of  Puck,  a  professional  mischief- 
maker.  I  don't  suppose  there's  anything  an  outsider 
could  find  out  which  would  be  really  useful  to  us,  but 
all  the  same,  if  I  had  the  time,  I  should  certainly  go 
down  to  Norfolk  myself." 

The  conversation  drifted  away  for  a  while.  Mu- 
tual acquaintances  entered,  there  were  several  intro- 
ductions, and  it  was  not  until  the  two  found  themselves 
together  in  Kinsley's  rooms  for  a  few  minutes  before 
parting  that  they  were  alone  again.  Hamel  returned 
then  once  more  to  the  subject. 

"  Reggie,"  he  said,  "  if  you  think  it  would  be  of 
the  slightest  use,  'I'll  go  down  to  Salthouse  to-morrow. 
I  am  rather  keen  on  going  there,  anyway.  I  am  abso- 
lutely fed  up  with  life  here  alreajdy." 

"  It's  just  what  I  want  you  to  do,"  Kinsley  said. 
"  I  am  afraid  Fentolin  is  a  little  too  clever  for  you  to 
get  on  the  right  side  of  him,  but  if  you  could  only  get 
an  idea  as  to  what  his  game  is  down  there,  it  would  be 
a  great  help.  You  see,  the  fellow  can't  have  gone 
into  all  this  sort  of  thing  blindfold.  We've  lost  sev- 
eral very  useful  agents  abroad  and  two  from  New 
York  who've  gone  into  his  pay.  There  must  be  a 
method  in  it  somewhere.  If  it  really  ends  with  his 
financial  operations  —  why,  all  right.  That's  very 
likely  what  it'll  come  to,  but  we  should  like  to  know. 
The  merest  hint  would  be  useful." 


66       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  Hamel  promised.  "  In  any 
case,  it  will  be  just  the  few  days'  holiday  I  was  looking 
forward  to." 

Kinsley  helped  himself  to  whisky  and  soda  and 
turned  towards  his  friend. 

"  Here's  luck  to  you,  Dick !  Take  care  of  yourself. 
All  sorts  of  things  may  happen,  you  know.  Old  man 
Fentolin  may  take  a  fancy  to  you  and  tell  you  secrets 
that  any  statesman  in  Europe  would  be  glad  to  hear. 
He  may  tell  you  why  this  conference  is  being  held  and 
what  the  result  will  be.  You  may  be  the  first  to 
hear  of  our  coming  fall.  Well,  here's  to  you,  any- 
way !  Drop  me  a  line,  if  you've  anything  to  report." 

"  Cheero !  "  Hamel  answered,  as  he  set  down  his 
empty  tumbler.  "  Astonishing  how  keen  I  feel  about 
this  little  adventure.  I'm  perfectly  sick  of  the  hum- 
drum life  I  have  been  leading  the  last  week,  and  you 
do  sort  of  take  one  back  to  the  Arabian  Nights,  you 
know,  Reggie.  I  am  never  quite  sure  whether  to  take 
you  seriously  or  not." 

Kinsley  smiled  as  he  held  his  friend's  hand  for  a 
moment. 

"  Dick,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  if  only  you'd  believe 
it,  the  adventures  in  the  Arabian  Nights  were  as  noth- 
ing compared  with  the  present-day  drama  of  foreign 
politics.  You  see,  we've  learned  to  conceal  things 
nowadays  —  to  smooth  them  over,  to  play  the  part  of 
ordinary  citizens  to  the  world  while  we  tug  at  the  un- 
derhand levers  in  our  secret  moments.  Good  night! 
Good  luck!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

t 

Richard  Hamel,  although  he  certainly  had  not  the 
appearance  of  a  person  afflicted  with  nerves,  gave  a 
slight  start.  For  the  last  half-hour,  during  which 
time  the  train  had  made  no  stop,  he  had  been  alone 
in  his  compartment.  Yet,  to  his  surprise,  he  vas  sud- 
denly aware  that  the  seat  opposite  to  him  had  been 
noiselessly  taken  by  a  girl  whose  eyes,  also,  were  fixed 
with  curious  intentness  upon  the  broad  expanse  of 
marshland  and  sands  across  which  the  train  was  slowly 
making  its  way.  Hamel  had  spent  a  great  many 
years  abroad,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  speak  with 
the  unexpected  stranger.  He  forgot  for  a  moment 
that  he  was  in  England,  travelling  in  a  first-class  car- 
riage, and  pointed  with  his  left  hand  towards  the 
sea. 

"  Queer  country  this,  isn't  it?  "  he  remarked  pleas- 
antly. "  Do  you  know,  I  never  heard  you  come  in. 
It  gave  me  quite  a  start  when  I  found  that  I  had  a 
fellow-passenger." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  amount  of  still  sur- 
prise, a  look  which  he  returned  just  as  steadfastly, 
because  even  in  those  few  seconds  he  was  conscious  of 
that  strange  selective  interest,  certainly  unaccounted 
for  by  his  own  impressions  of  her  appearance.  She 
seemed  to  him,  at  that  first  glance,  very  far  indeed 
from  being  good-looking,  according  to  any  of  the 
standards  by  which  he  had  measured  good  looks.  She 


68       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

was  thin,  too  thin  for  his  taste,  and  she  carried  her- 
self with  an  aloofness  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed. 
Her  cheeks  were  quite  pale,  her  hair  of  a  soft  shade 
of  brown,  her  eyes  grey  and  sad.  She  gave  him  alto- 
gether an  impression  of  colourlessness,  and  he  had 
been  living  in  a  land  where  colour  and  vitality  meant 
much.  Her  speech,  too,  in  its  very  restraint,  fell 
strangely  upon  his  ears. 

"  I  have  been  travelling  in  an  uncomfortable  com- 
partment," she  observed.  "  I  happened  to  notice, 
when  passing  along  the  corridor,  that  yours  was 
empty.  In  any  case,  I  am  getting  out  at  the  next 
station." 

"  So  am  I,"  he  replied,  still  cheerfully.  "  I  sup- 
pose the  next  station  is  St.  David's  ?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  but  so  far  as  her  expression 
counted  for  anything  at  all,  she  was  a  little  surprised. 
Her  eyes  considered  him  for  a  moment.  Hamel  was 
tall,  well  over  six  feet,  powerfully  made,  with  good 
features,  clear  eyes,  and  complexion  unusually  sun- 
burnt. He  wore  a  flannel  collar  of  unfamiliar  shape, 
and  his  clothes,  although  they  were  neat  enough,  were 
of  a  pattern  and  cut  obviously  designed  to  afford  the 
maximum  of  ease  and  comfort  with  the  minimum  re- 
gard to  appearance.  He  wore,  too,  very  thick  boots, 
and  his  hands  gave  one  the  impression  that  they  were 
seldom  gloved.  His  voice  was  pleasant,  and  he  had 
the  easy  self-confidence  of  a  person  sure  of  himself  in 
the  world.  She  put  him  down  as  a  colonial  —  perhaps 
an  American  —  but  his  rank  in  life  mystified  her. 

"  This  seems  the  queerest  stretch  of  country,"  he 
went  on;  "long  spits  of  sand  jutting  right  out  into 
the  sea,  dikes  and  creeks  —  miles  and  miles  of  them. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       69 

Now,  I  wonder,  is  it  low  tide  or  high  ?  Low,  I  should 
think,  because  of  the  sea-shine  on  the  sand  there." 

She  glanced  out  of  the  window. 

"  The  tide,"  she  told  him,  "  is  almost  at  its  lowest." 

"  You  live  in  this  neighbourhood,  perhaps?  "  he  en- 
quired. 

"  I  do,"  she  assented. 

"  Sort  of  country  one  might  get  very  fond  of,"  he 
ventured. 

She  glanced  at  him  from  the  depths  of  her  grey 
eyes. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  rejoined  coldly.  "For 
my  part,  I  hate  it." 

He  was  surprised  at  the  unexpected  emphasis  of  her 
tone  —  the  first  time,  indeed,  that  she  had  shown  any 
signs  of  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  Kind  of  dull  I  suppose  you  find  it,"  he  remarked 
pensively,  looking  out  across  the  waste  of  lavender- 
grown  marshes,  sand  hummocks  piled  with  seaweed, 
and  a  far  distant  line  of  pebbled  shore.  "  And  yet, 
I  don't  know.  I  have  lived  by  the  sea  a  good  deal, 
and  however  monotonous  it  may  seem  at  first,  there's 
always  plenty  of  change,  really.  Tide  and  wind  do 
such  wonderful  work." 

She,  too,  was  looking  out  now  towards  the  sea. 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  exactly  that,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I 
am  quite  willing  to  admit  what  all  the  tourists  and 
chance  visitors  call  the  fascination  of  these  places.  I 
happen  to  dislike  them,  that  is  all.  Perhaps  it  is  be- 
cause I  live  here,  because  I  see  them  day  by  day ;  per- 
haps because  the  sight  of  them  and  the  thought  of 
them  have  become  woven  into  my  life." 

She  was  talking  half  to  herself.     For.  a  moment, 


70       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

even  the  knowledge  of  his  presence  had  escaped  her. 
Hamel,  however,  did  not  realise  that  fact.  He  wel- 
comed her  confidence  as  a  sign  of  relaxation  from  the 
frigidity  of  her  earlier  demeanour. 

"  That  seems  hard,"  he  observed  sympathetically. 
"  It  seems  odd  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  too.  Your 
life,  surely,  ought  to  be  pleasant  enough." 

She  looked  away  from  the  sea  into  his  face.  Al- 
though the  genuine  interest  which  she  saw  there  and 
the  kindly  expression  of  his  eyes  disarmed  annoyance, 
she  still  stiffened  slightly. 

"Why  ought  it?" 

The  question  was  a  little  bewildering. 

"  Why,  because  you  are  young  and  a  girl,"  he  re- 
plied. "  It's  natural  to  be  cheerful,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Is  it?  "  she  answered  listlessly.  "  I  cannot  tell. 
I  have  not  had  much  experience." 

"  How  old  are  you?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

This  time  it  certainly  seemed  as  though  her  reply 
would  contain  some  rebuke  for  his  curiosity.  She 
glanced  once  more  into  his  face,  however,  and  the  in- 
stinctive desire  to  administer  that  well-deserved  snub 
passed  away.  He  was  so  obviously  interested,  his 
question  was  asked  so  naturally,  that  its  spice  of  im- 
pertinence was  as  though  it  had  not  existed. 

"  I  am  twenty-one,"  she  told  him. 

"  And  how  long  have  you  lived  here  ?  " 

"  Since  I  left  boarding-school,  four  years  ago." 

"  Anywhere  near  where  I  am  going  to  bury  myself 
for  a  time,  I  wonder?  "  he  went  on. 

"  That  depends,"  she  replied.  "  Our  only  neigh- 
bours are  the  Lorneybrookes  of  Market  Burnham. 
Are  you  going  there?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       71 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  got  a  little  shanty  of  my  own,"  he  explained, 
"  quite  close  to  St.  David's  Station.  I've  never  even 
seen  it  yet." 

She  vouchsafed  some  slight  show  of  curiosity. 

"  Where  is  this  shanty,  as  you  call  it  ?  "  she  asked 
him. 

"  I  really  haven't  the  faintest  idea,"  he  replied. 
"  I  am  looking  for  it  now.  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  it 
stands  just  out  of  reach  of  the  full  tides,  on  a  piece  of 
rock,  dead  on  the  beach  and  about  a  mile  from  the 
station.  It  was  built  originally  for  -a  coastguard  sta- 
tion and  meant  to  hold  a  lifeboat,  but  they  found  they 
could  never  launch  the  lifeboat  when  they  had  it,  so 
the  man  to  whom  all  the  foreshore  and  most  of  the 
land  around  here  belongs  —  a  Mr.  Fentolin,  I  believe 
—  sold  it  to  my  father.  I  expect  the  place  has 
tumbled  to  pieces  by  this  time,  but  I  thought  I'd  have 
a  look  at  it." 

She  was  gazing  at  him  steadfastly  now,  with  parted 
lips. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Richard  Hamel." 

"  Hamel." 

She  repeated  it  lingeringly.  It  seemed  quite  un- 
familiar. 

"  Was  your  father  a  great  friend  of  Mr.  Fentolin's, 
then?  "  she  asked. 

*'  I  believe  so,  in  a  sort  of  way,"  he  answered. 
"  My  father  was  Hamel  the  artist,  you  know.  They 
made  him  an  R.A.  some  time  before  he  died.  He  used 
to  come  out  here  and  live  in  a  tent.  Then  Mr.  Fento- 
lin let  him  use  this  place  and  finally  sold  it  to  him. 


72       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

My  father  used  often  to  speak  to  me  about  it  before 
he  died." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  enquired,  "  I  do  not  know  much 
about  these  matters,  but  have  you  any  papers  to  prove 
that  it  was  sold  to  your  father  and  that  you  have  the 
right  to  occupy  it  now  when  you  choose  ?  " 

He  smiled. 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  he  assured  her.  "  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  as  none  of  us  have  been  here  for  so  long,  I 
thought  I'd  better  bring  the  title-deed,  or  Avhatever 
they  call  it,  along  with  me.  It's  with  the  rest  of  my 
traps  at  Norwich.  Oh,  the  place  belongs  to  me,  right 
enough !  "  he  went  on,  smiling.  "  Don't  tell  me  that 
any  one's  pulled  it  down,  or  that  it's  disappeared 
from  the  face  of  the  earth?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  still  remains  there.  When 
we  are  round  the  next  curve,  I  think  I  can  show  it  to 
you.  But  every  one  has  forgotten,  I  think,  that  it 
doesn't  belong  to  Mr.  Fentolin  still.  He  uses  it  him- 
self very  often." 

"What  for?" 

She  looked  at  her  questioner  quite  steadfastly, 
quite  quietly,  speechlessly.  A  curious  uneasiness 
crept  into  his  thoughts.  There  were  mysterious 
things  in  her  face.  He  knew  from  that  moment  that 
she,  too,  directly  or  indirectly,  was  concerned  with 
those  strange  happenings  at  which  Kinsley  had  hinted. 
He  knew  that  there  were  things  which  she  was  keeping 
from  him  now. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  uses  one  of  the  rooms  as  a  studio. 
He  likes  to  paint  there  and  be  near  the  sea,:"  she  ex- 
plained. "  But  for  the  rest,  I  do  not  know.  I  never 
go  near  the  place." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       73 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  remarked,  after  a  few  moments  of 
silence,  "  that  I  shall  be  a  little  unpopular  with  Mr. 
Fentolin.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  written  first,  but 
then,  of  course,  I  had  no  idea  that  any  one  was  mak- 
ing use  of  the  place." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  "  how  you  can 
possibly  expect  to  come  down  like  this  and  live  there, 
without  any  preparation." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You  haven't  any  servants  nor  any  furniture  nor 
things  to  cook  with." 

He  laughed. 

"  Oh !  I  am  an  old  campaigner,"  he  assured  her. 
"  I  meant  to  pick  up  a  few  oddments  in  the  village.  I 
don't  suppose  I  shall  stay  very  long,  anyhow,  but  I 
thought  I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  the  place ,  By-the- 
by ,  what  sort  of  a  man  is  Mr.  Fentolin  ?  " 

Again  there  was  that  curious  expression  in  her 
eyes,  an  expression  almost  of  secret  terror,  this  time 
not  wholly  concealed.  He  could  have  sworn  that  her 
hands  were  cold. 

"  He  met  with  an  accident  many  years  ago,"  she 
said  slowly.  "  Both  his  legs  were  amputated.  He 
spends  his  life  in  a  little  carriage  which  he  wheels 
about  himself." 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  Hamel  exclaimed,  with  a  strong 
man's  ready  sympathy  for  suffering.  "  That  is  just 
as  much  as  I  have  heard  about  him.  Is  he  a  decent 
sort  of  fellow  in  other  ways?  I  suppose,  anyhow,  if 
he  has  really  taken  a  fancy  to  my  little  shanty,  I  shall 
have  to  give  it  up." 

Then,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  for  the  first  time  real  life 
leaped  into  her  face.  She  leaned  towards  him.  Her 


74       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

tone  was  half  commanding,  half  imploring,  her  man- 
ner entirely  confidential. 

"  Don't !  "  she  begged.  "  It  is  yours.  Claim  it. 
Live  in  it.  Do  anything  you  like  with  it,  but  take  it 
away  from  Mr.  Fentolin !  " 

Hamel  was  speechless.  He  sat  a  little  forward,  a 
hand  on  either  knee,  his  mouth  ungracefully  open,  an 
expression  of  blank  and  utter  bewilderment  in  his  face. 
For  the  first  time  he  began  to  have  vague  doab*  3  con- 
cerning this  young  lady.  Everything  about  her  had 
been  so  strange:  her  quiet  entrance  into  the  carriage, 
her  unusual  manner  of  talking,  and  finally  this  last 
passionate,  inexplicable  appeal. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand. You  say  the  poor  fellow  has  taken  a  fancy 
to  the  pb.ce  and  likes  being  there.  Well,  it  isn't  much 
of  a  catch  for  me,  anyway.  I'm  rather  a  wanderer, 
and  I  dare  say  I  shan't  be  back  in  these  parts  again 
for  years.  Why  shouldn't  I  let  him  have  it  if  he  wants 
it  ?  It's  no  loss  to  me.  I'm  not  a  painter,  you  know, 
like  my  father." 

She  seemed  on  the  point  of  making  a  further  appeal. 
Her  lips,  even,  were  parted,  her  head  a  little  thrown 
back.  And  then  she  stopped.  She  said  nothing. 
The  silence  lasted  so  long  that  he  became  almost  em- 
barrassed. 

"  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  am  a  little  dense,  won't 
you?  "  he  begged.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  went 
on,  smiling,  "  I've  got  a  sort  of  feeling  that  I'd  like 
to  do  anything  you  ask  me.  Now  won't  you  just  ex- 
plain a  little  more  clearly  what  you  mean,  and  I'll  blow 
up  the  old  place  sky  high,  if  it's  any  pleasure  to 
you." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       75 

She  seemed  suddenly  to  have  reverted  to  her  former 
self  —  the  cold  and  colourless  young  woman  who  had 
first  taken  the  seat  opposite  to  his. 

"  Mine  was  a  very  foolish  request,"  she  admitted 
quietly.  "  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  made  it.  It  was 
just  an  impulse,  because  the  little  building  we  were 
speaking  of  has  been  connected  with  one  or  two  very 
disagreeable  episodes.  Nevertheless,  it  was  foolish  of 
me.  How  long  did  you  think  of  staying  there  —  that 
is,"  she  added,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  providing  that  you 
find  it  possible  to  prove  your  claim  and  take  up  pos- 
session? " 

"  Oh,  just  for  a  week  or  so,"  he  answered  lightly, 
"  and  as  to  regaining  possession  of  it,"  he  went  on,  a 
slightly  pugnacious  instinct  stirring  him,  "  I  don't 
imagine  that  there'll  be  any  difficulty  about  that." 

"  Really !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Not  that  I  want  to  make  myself  disagreeable,"  he 
continued,  "  but  the  Tower  is  mine,  right  enough,  even 
if  I  have  let  it  remain  unoccupied  for  some  time." 

She  let  down  the  window  —  a  task  in  which  he 
hastened  to  assist  her.  A  rush  of  salt,  cold  air  swept 
into  the  compartment.  He  sniffed  it  eagerly. 

"  Wonderful !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  stretched  out  a  long  arm  and  pointed.  Away 
in  the  distance,  on  the  summit  of  a  line  of  pebbled 
shore,  standing,  as  it  seemed,  sheer  over  the  sea,  was  a 
little  black  speck. 

"  That,"  she  said,  "  is  the  Tower." 

He  changed  his  position  and  leaned  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Well,  it's  a  queer  little  place,"  he  remarked.  "  It 
doesn't  look  worth  quarrelling  over,  does  it?  " 


76       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  And  that,"  she  went  on,  directing  his  attention  to 
the  hill,  "  is  Mr.  Fentolin's  home,  St.  David's  Hall." 

For  several  moments  he  made  no  remark  at  all. 
There  was  something  curiously  impressive  in  that  sud- 
den sweep  up  from  the  sea-line ;  the  strange,  miniature 
mountain  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  marshes,  with 
its  tree-crowned  background;  and  the  long,  weather- 
beaten  front  of  the  house  turned  bravely  to  the  sea. 

"  I  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  he  declared. 
"  Why,  it's  barely  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  sea, 
isn't  it?  " 

"  A  little  more  than  that.  It  is  a  strangely  situ- 
ated abode,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Wonderful !  "  he  agreed,  with  emphasis.  "  I 
must  study  the  geological  formation  of  that  hill,"  he 
continued,  with  interest.  "  Why,  it  looks  almost  like 
an  island  now." 

"  That  is  because  of  the  floods,"  she  told  him. 
"  Even  at  high  tide  the  creeks  never  reach  so  far  as  the 
back  there.  All  the  water  you  see  stretching  away 
inland  is  flood  water  —  the  result  of  the  storm,  I  sup- 
pose. This  is  where  you  get  out,"  she  concluded,  ris- 
ing to  her  feet. 

She  turned  away  with  the  slightest  nod.  A  maid 
was  already  awaiting  her  at  the  door  of  the  compart- 
ment. Hamel  was  suddenly  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
he  disliked  her  going  immensely. 

"  We  shall,  perhaps,  meet  again  during  the  next 
few  days,"  he  remarked. 

She  half  turned  her  head.  Her  expression  was 
scarcely  encouraging. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  not  be  disap- 
pointed in  your  quarters." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       77 

Hamel  followed  her  slowly  on  to  the  platform,  saw 
her  escorted  to  a  very  handsome  motor-car  by  an  obse- 
quious station-master,  and  watched  the  former  disap- 
pear down  the  stretch  of  straight  road  which  led  to  the 
hill.  Then,  with  a  stick  in  one  hand,  and  the  hand- 
bag which  was  his  sole  luggage  in  the  other,  he  left 
the  station  and  turned  seaward. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Mr.  Fentolin,  surrounded  by  his  satellites,  was 
seated  in  his  chair  before  the  writing-table.  There 
were  present  in  the  room  most  of  the  people  important 
to  him  in  his  somewhat  singular  life.  A  few  feet 
away,  in  characteristic  attitude,  stood  Meekins. 
Doctor  Sarson,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  was  looking 
out  of  the  window.  At  the  further  end  of  the  table 
stood  a  confidential  telegraph  clerk,  who  was  just  de- 
parting with  a  little  sheaf  of  messages.  By  his  side, 
with  a  notebook  in  her  hand,  stood  Mr.  Fentolin's 
private  secretary  —  a  white-haired  woman,  with  a 
strangely  transparent  skin  and  light  brown  eyes, 
dressed  in  somber  black,  a  woman  who  might  have  been 
of  any  age  from  thirty  to  fifty.  Behind  her  was  a 
middle-aged  man  whose  position  in  the  household  no 
one  was  quite  sure  about  —  a  clean-shaven  man  whose 
name  was  Ryan,  and  who  might  very  well  have  been 
once  an  actor  or  a  clergyman.  In  the  background 
stood  Henderson,  the  perfect  butler. 

"  It  is  perhaps  opportune,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said 
quietly,  "  that  you  all  whom  I  trust  should  be  present 
here  together.  I  wish  you  to  understand  one  thing. 
You  have,  I  believe,  in  my  employ  learned  the  gift  of 
silence.  It  is  to  be  exercised  with  regard  to  a  certain 
visitor  brought  here  by  my  nephew,  a  visitor  whom  I 
regret  to  say  is  now  lying  seriously  ill." 

There  was  absolute  silence.     Doctor  Sarson  alone 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       79 

turned  from  the  window  as  though  about  to  speak,  but 
met  Mr.  Fentolin's  eje  and  at  once  resumed  his  po- 
sition. 

"  I  rely  upon  you  all,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued 
softly.  "  Henderson,  you,  perhaps,  have  the  most 
difficult  task,  for  you  have  the  servants  to  control. 
Nevertheless,  I  rely  upon  you,  also.  If  one  word  of 
this  visitor's  presence  here  leaks  out  even  so  far  as  the 
village,  out  they  go,  every  one  of  them.  I  will  not 
have  a  servant  in  the  place  who  does  not  respect  my 
wishes.  You  can  give  any  reason  you  like  for  my 
orders.  It  is  a  whim.  I  have  whims,  and  I  choose  to 
pay  for  them.  You  are  all  better  paid  than  any 
man  breathing  could  pay  you.  In  return  I  ask  only 
for  your  implicit  obedience." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  took  a  cigarette  from 
a  curiously  carved  ivory  box  which  stood  by  his  side. 
He  tapped  it  gently  upon  the  table  and  looked  up. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  Henderson  said  respectfully,  "  that 
I  can  answer  for  the  servants.  Being  mostly  foreign- 
ers, they  see  little  or  nothing  of  the  village  peo- 
ple." 

No  one  else  made  any  remark.  It  was  strange  to 
see  how  dominated  they  all  were  by  that  queer  little 
fragment  of  humanity,  whose  head  scarcely  reached  a 
foot  above  the  table  before  which  he  sat.  They  de- 
parted silently,  almost  abjectly,  dismissed  with  a 
single  wave  of  the  hand.  Mr.  Fentolin  beckoned  his 
secretary  to  remain.  She  came  a  little  nearer. 

"  Sit  down,  Lucy,"  he  ordered. 

She  seated  herself  a  few  feet  away  from  him.  Mr. 
Fentolin  watched  her  for  several  moments.  He  him- 
self had  his  back  to  the  light.  The  woman,  on  the 


8o       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

other  hand,  was  facing  it.  The  windows  were  high, 
and  the  curtains  were  drawn  back  to  their  fullest  ex- 
tent. A  cold  stream  of  northern  light  fell  upon  her 
face.  Mr.  Fentolin  gazed  at  her  and  nodded  his 
head  slightly. 

"  My  dear  Lucy,"  he  declared,  "  you  are  wonder- 
ful —  a  perfect  cameo,  a  gem.  To  look  at  you  now, 
with  your  delightful  white  hair  and  your  flawless 
skin,  one  would  never  believe  that  you  had  ever 
spoken  a  single  angry  word,  that  you  had  ever  felt 
the  blood  flow  through  your  veins,  or  that  your  eyes 
had  ever  looked  upon  the  gentle  things  of  life." 

She  looked  at  him,  still  without  speech.  The  im- 
mobility of  her  face  was  indeed  a  marvellous  thing. 
Mr.  Fentolin's  expression  darkened. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  murmured  softly,  "  I  think  that 
if  I  had  strong  fingers  —  really  strong  fingers,  you 
know,  Lucy  —  I  should  want  to  take  you  by  the 
throat  and  hold  you  tighter  and  tighter,  until  your 
breath  came  fast,  and  your  eyes  came  out  from  their 
shadows." 

She  turned  over  a  few  pages  of  her  notebook.  To 
all  appearance  she  had  not  heard  a  word. 

"  To-day,"  she  announced,  "  is  the  fourth  of 
April.  Shall  I  send  out  the  various  checks  to  those 
men  in  Paris,  New  York,  Frankfort,  St.  Petersburg, 
and  Tokio?" 

"  You  can  send  the  checks,"  he  told  her.  "  Be 
sure  that  you  draw  them,  as  usual,  upon  the  Credit 
Lyonaise  and  in  the  name  you  know  of.  Say  to 
Lebonaitre  of  Paris  that  you  consider  his  last  re- 
ports faulty.  No  mention  was  made  of  Monsieur 
C's  visit  to  the  Russian  Embassy,  or  of  the  supper 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       81 

party  given  to  the  Baron  von  Erlstein  by  a  certain 
Russian  gentleman.  Warn  him,  if  you  please,  that 
reports  with  such  omissions  are  useless  to  me." 

She  wrote  a  few  words  in  her  book. 

"  You  made  a  note  of  that  ?  " 

She  raised  her  head. 

"  I  do  not  make  mistakes,"  she  said. 

His  eyebrows  were  drawn  together.  This  was  his 
work,  he  told  himself,  this  magnificent  physical  sub- 
jection. Yet  his  inability  to  stir  her  sometimes  mad- 
dened him. 

"You  know  who  is  in  this  house?"  he  asked. 
"  You  know  the  name  of  my  unknown  guest?  " 

"  I  know  nothing,"  she  replied.  "  His  presence 
does  not  interest  me." 

"  Supposing  I  desire  you  to  know?  "  he  persisted, 
leaning  a  little  forward.  "  Supposing  I  tell  you  that 
it  is  your  duty  to  know?  " 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  I  should  tell  you  that  I  be- 
lieve him  to  be  the  special  envoy  from  New  York 
to  The  Hague,  or  whatever  place  on  the  Continent 
this  coming  conference  is  to  be  held  at." 

"  Right,  woman !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  answered  sharply. 
"  Right !  It  is  the  special  envoy.  He  has  his  man- 
date with  him.  I  have  them  both  —  the  man  and  his 
mandate.  Can  you  guess  what  I  am  going  to  do 
with  them?" 

"  It  is  not  difficult,"  she  replied.  "  Your  methods 
are  scarcely  original.  His  mandate  to  the  flames, 
and  his  body  to  the  sea !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  and  looked  over 
Mr.  Fentolin's  shoulder,  across  the  marshland  to  the 
grey  stretch  of  ocean.  Her  eyes  became  fixed.  It 


82       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

was  not  possible  to  say  that  they  held  any  expres- 
sion, and  yet  one  felt  that  she  saw  beneath  the  grey 
waves,  even  to  the  rocks  and  caverns  below. 

"  It  does  not  terrify  you,  then,"  he  asked  curiously, 
"  to  think  that  a  man  under  this  roof  is  about  to 
die?  " 

"Why  should  it?"  she  retorted.  "Death  does 
not  frighten  me  —  my  own  or  anybody  else's.  Does 
it  frighten  you?  " 

His  face  was  suddenly  livid,  his  eyes  full  of  fierce 
anger.  His  lips  twitched.  He  struck  the  table  be- 
fore him. 

"  Beast  of  a  woman  !  "  he  shouted.  "  You  ghoul  J 
How  dare  you  !  How  dare  you  —  " 

He  stopped  short.  He  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead.  All  the  time  the  woman  remained  un- 
moved. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  muttered,  his  voice  still  shak- 
ing a  little,  "  that  I  believe  sometimes  I  am  afraid 
of  you?  How  would  you  like  to  see  me  there,  eh, 
down  at  the  bottom  of  that  hungry  sea?  You  watch 
sometimes  so  fixedly.  You'd  miss  me,  wouldn't  you? 
I  am  a  good  master,  you  know.  I  pay  well.  You've 
been  with  me  a  good  many  years.  You  were  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  woman  when  you  first  came." 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "  I  was  a  different  sort  of 


"  You  don't  remember  those  days,  I  suppose,"  he 
went  on,  "  the  days  when  you  had  brown  hair,  when 
you  used  to  carry  roses  about  and  sing  to  yourself 
while  you  beat  your  work  out  of  that  wretched  type- 
writer? " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  do  not  remember  those 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       83 

days.  They  do  not  belong  to  me.  It  is  some  other 
woman  you  are  thinking  of." 

Their  eyes  met.  Mr.  Fentolin  turned  away  first. 
He  struck  the  bell  at  his  elbow.  She  rose  at  once. 

"  Be  off !  "  he  ordered.  "  When  you  look  at  me 
like  that,  you  send  shivers  through  me !  You'll  have 
to  go ;  I  can  see  you'll  have  to  go.  I  can't  keep  you 
any  longer.  You  are  the  only  person  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  who  dares  to  say  things  to  me  which  make 
me  think,  the  only  person  who  doesn't  shrink  at  the 
sound  of  my  voice.  You'll  have  to  go.  Send  Sar- 
son  to  me  at  once.  You've  upset  me !  " 

She  listened  to  his  words  in  expressionless  silence. 
When  he  had  finished,  carrying  her  book  in  her 
hand,  she  very  quietly  moved  towards  the  door.  He 
watched  her,  leaning  a  little  forward  in  his  chair,  his 
lips  parted,  his  eyes  threatening.  She  walked  with 
steady,  even  footsteps.  She  carried  herself  with  al- 
most machine-like  erectness ;  her  skirts  were  noiseless. 
She  had  the  trick  of  turning  the  handle  of  the  door  in 
perfect  silence.  He  heard  her  calm  voice  in  the 
hall. 

"  Doctor  Sarson  is  to  go  to  Mr.  Fentolin." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  quite  still,  feeling  his  own  pulse. 

"  That  woman,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  that 
woman  —  some  day  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  she 
really  — " 

He  paused.     The  doctor  had  entered  the  room. 

"  I  am  upset,  Sarson,"  he  declared.  "  Come  and 
feel  my  pulse  quickly.  That  woman  has  upset  me." 

"Miss  Price?" 

"  Miss  Price,  d — n  it !     Lucy  —  yes !  " 

"  It  seems  unlike  her,"  the  doctor  remarked.     "  I 


84       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

have  never  heard  her  utter  a  useless  syllable  in  my 
life." 

Mr.  Fentolin  held  out  his  wrist. 

"  It's  what  she  doesn't  say,"  he  muttered. 

The  doctor  produced  his  watch.  In  less  than  a 
minute  he  put  it  away. 

"  This  is  quite  unnecessary,"  he  pronounced. 
"  Your  pulse  is  wonderful." 

"  Not  hurried?     No  signs  of  palpitation?  " 

"  You  have  seven  or  eight  footmen,  all  young 
men,"  Doctor  Sarson  replied  drily.  "  I  will  wager 
that  there  isn't  one  of  them  has  a  pulse  so  vigorous 
as  yours." 

Mr.  Fentolin  leaned  a  little  back  in  his  chair.  An 
expression  of  satisfaction  crept  over  his  face. 

"  You  reassure  me,  my  dear  Sarson.  That  is  ex- 
cellent. What  of  our  patient  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  change." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed,  "  that  we 
shall  have  trouble  with  him.  These  strong  people 
always  give  trouble." 

"  It  will  be  just  the  same  in  the  long  run,"  the 
doctor  remarked,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

Mr.  Fentolin  held  up  his  finger. 

"  Listen !     A  motor-car,   I  believe  ?  " 

"  It  is  Miss  Fentolin  who  is  just  arriving,"  the 
doctor  announced.  "  I  saw  the  car  coming  as  I 
crossed  the  hall." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  gently. 

"Indeed?"  he  replied.  "Indeed?  So  my  dear 
niece  has  returned.  Open  the  door,  friend  Sarson. 
Open  the  door,  if  you  please.  She  will  be  anxious 
to  see  me.  We  must  summon  her." 


CHAPTER  X 

Mr.  Fentolin  raised  to  his  lips  the  little  gold  whis- 
tle which  hung  from  his  neck  and  blew  it.  He  seemed 
to  devote  very  little  effort  to  the  operation,  yet  the 
strength  of  the  note  was  wonderful.  As  the  echoes 
died  away,  he  let  it  fall  by  his  side  and  waited  with 
a  pleased  smile  upon  his  lips.  In  a  few  seconds 
there  was  the  hurried  flutter  of  skirts  and  the  sound 
of  footsteps.  The  girl  who  had  just  completed  her 
railway  journey  entered,  followed  by  her  brother. 
They  were  both  a  little  out  of  breath,  they  both  ap- 
proached the  chair  without  a  smile,  the  girl  in  ad- 
vance, with  a  certain  expression  of  apprehension  in 
her  eyes.  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  He  appeared  to 
notice  these  things  and  regret  them. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hands,  "  my 
dear  Esther,  welcome  home  again!  I  heard  the  car 
outside.  I  am  grieved  that  you  did  not  at  once 
hurry  to  my  side." 

"  I  have  not  been  in  the  house  two  minutes,"  Esther 
replied,  "  and  I  haven't  seen  mother  yet.  Forgive 
me."  ', 

She  had  come  to  a  standstill  a  few  yards  away. 
She  moved  now  very  slowly  towards  the  chair,  with 
the  air  of  one  fulfilling  a  hateful  task.  The  fingers 
which  accepted  his  hands  were  extended  almost  hesi- 
tatingly. He  drew  her  closer  to  him  and  held  her 
there. 


86       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Your  mother,  my  dear  Esther,  is,  I  regret  to  say, 
suffering  from  a  slight  indisposition,"  he  remarked. 
"  She  has  been  confined  to  her  room  for  the  last  few 
days.  Just  a  trifling  affair  of  the  nerves;  nothing 
more,  Doctor  Sarson  assures  me.  But  my  dear 
child,"  he  went  on,  "  your  fingers  are  as  cold  as  ice. 
You  look  at  me  so  strangely,  too.  Alas!  you  have 
not  the  affectionate  disposition  of  your  dear  mother. 
One  would  scarcely  believe  that  we  have  been  parted 
for  more  than  a  week." 

"  For  more  than  a  week,"  she  repeated,  under  her 
breath. 

"  Stoop  down,  my  dear.  I  must  kiss  your  fore- 
head—  there!  Now  bring  up  a  chair  to  my  side. 
You  seem  frightened  —  alarmed.  Have  you  ill  news 
for  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  news,"  she  answered,  gradually  re- 
covering herself. 

"  The  gaieties  of  London,  I  fear,"  he  protested 
gently,  "  have  proved  a  little  unsettling." 

"  There  were  no  gaieties  for  me,"  the  girl  replied 
bitterly.  "  Mrs.  Sargent  obeyed  your  orders  very 
faithfully.  I  was  not  allowed  to  move  out  except 
with  her." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  would  not  go  about  London 
unchaperoned ! " 

''  There  is  a  difference,"  she  retorted,  "  between  a 
chaperon  and  a  jailer." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  He  shook  his  head  slowly. 
He  seemed  pained. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  repay  my  care  as  it  de- 
serves, Esther,"  he  declared.  "  There  is  something 
in  your  deportment  which  disappoints  me.  Never 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       87 

mind,  your  brother  has  made  some  atonement.  I  en- 
trusted him  with  a  little  mission  in  which  I  am  glad 
to  say  that  he  has  been  brilliantly  successful." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  Esther 
replied  quietly. 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  back  in  his  chair.  His  long 
fingers  played  nervously  together,  he  looked  at  her 
gravely. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  pained 
surprise,  "  your  attitude  distresses  me !  " 

"  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  told  you  what  I  think 
about  Gerald  and  the  life  he  is  compelled  to  live  here. 
I  don't  mind  so  much  for  myself,  but  for  him  I  think 
it  is  abominable." 

"  The  same  as  ever,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  "  I  fear 
that  this  little  change  has  done  you  no  good,  dear 
niece." 

"  Change !  "  she  echoed.  "  It  was  only  a  change 
of  prisons." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  slowly  —  a  distress- 
ful gesture.  Yet  all  the  time  he  had  somehow  the 
air  of  a  man  secretly  gratified. 

"  You  are  beginning  to  depress  me,"  he  announced. 
"  I  think  that  you  can  go  away.  No,  stop  for  just 
one  moment.  Stand  there  in  the  light.  Dear  me, 
how  unfortunate!  Who  would  have  thought  that 
so  beautiful  a  mother  could  have  so  plain  a  daugh- 
ter!" 

She  stood  quite  still  before  him,  her  hands  crossed 
in  front  of  her,  something  of  the  look  of  the  nun 
from  whom  the  power  of  suffering  has  gone  in  her 
still,  cold  face  and  steadfast  eyes. 

"  Not  a  touch  of  colour,"  he  continued  meditatively, 


88       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  a  figure  straight  as  my  walking-stick.  What  a 
pity!  And  all  the  taste,  nowadays,  they  tell  me,  is 
in  the  other  direction.  The  lank  damsels  have  gone 
completely  out.  We  buried  them  with  Oscar  Wilde. 
Run  along,  my  dear  child.  You  do  not  amuse  me. 
You  can  take  Gerald  with  you,  if  you  will.  I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  Gerald  just  now.  He  is  in  my  good 
books.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Gerald? 
Your  allowance,  for  instance  —  a  trifling  increase  or 
an  advance?  I  am  in  a  generous  humour." 

"  Then  grant  me  what  I  begged  for  the  other  day," 
the  boy  answered  quickly.  "  Let  me  go  to  Sand- 
hurst. I  could  enter  my  name  next  week  for  the  ex- 
aminations, and  I  could  pass  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Fentolin  tapped  the  table  thoughtfully  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  A  little  ungrateful,  my  dear  boy,"  he  declared, 
"  a  little  ungrateful  that,  I  think.  Your  confidence 
in  yourself  pleases  me,  though.  You  think  you  could 
pass  your  examinations?  " 

"  I  did  a  set  of  papers  last  week,"  the  boy  replied. 
"  On  the  given  percentages  I  came  out  twelfth  or 
better.  Mr.  Brown  assured  me  that  I  could  go  in  for 
them  at  any  moment.  He  promised  to  write  you 
about  it  before  he  left." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  gently. 

"  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  did  have  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Brown,"  he  remarked.  "  Rather  an  impertinence 
for  a  tutor,  I  thought  it.  He  devoted  three  pages 
towards  impressing  upon  me  the  necessity  of  your 
adopting  some  sort  of  a  career." 

"  He  wrote  because  he  thought  it  was  his  duty," 
the  boy  said  doggedly. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       89 

"  So  you  want  to  be  a  soldier,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued musingly.  "  Well,  well,  why  not  ?  Our  pic- 
ture galleries  are  full  of  them.  There  has  been  a 
Fentolin  in  every  great  battle  for  the  last  five  hun- 
dred years.  Sailors,  too  —  plenty  of  them  —  and 
just  a  few  diplomatists.  Brave  fellows!  Not  one,  I 
fancy,"  he  added,  "  like  me  —  not  one  condemned  to 
pass  their  days  in  a  perambulator.  You  are  a  fine 
fellow,  Gerald  —  a  regular  Fentolin.  Getting  on  for 
six  feet,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Six  feet  two,  sir." 

"  A  very  fine  fellow,"  Mr.  Fentolin  repeated.  "  I 
am  not  so  sure  about  the  army,  Gerald.  You  see, 
there  are  some  people  who  say,  like  your  American 
friend,  that  we  are  even  now  almost  on  the  brink  of 
war." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  me  to  hurry,"  the  boy 
begged. 

Mr.   Fentolin   closed  his   eyes. 

"  Don't !  "  he  insisted.  "  Have  you  ever  stopped 
to  think  what  war  means  —  the  war  you  speak  of  so 
lightly?  The  suffering,  the  misery  of  it!  All  the 
pageantry  and  music  and  heroism  in  front ;  and  be- 
hind, a  blackened  world,  a  trail  of  writhing  corpses, 
a  world  of  weeping  women  for  whom  the  sun  shall 
never  rise  again.  Ugh !  An  ugly  thing  war,  Gerald. 
I  am  not  sure  that  you  are  not  better  at  home  here. 
Why  not  practise  golf  a  little  more  assiduously?  I 
see  from  the  local  paper  that  you  are  still  playing  at 
two  handicap.  Now  with  your  physique,  I  should 
have  thought  you  would  have  been  a  scratch  player 
long  before  now." 

"  I  play  cricket,   sir,"   the  boy  reminded  him,   a 


9o       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

little  impatiently,  "and,  after  all,  there  are  other 
things  in  the  world  besides  games." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  long  finger  shot  suddenly  out.  He 
was  leaning  a  little  from  his  chair.  His  expression  of 
gentle  immobility  had  passed  away.  His  face  was 
stern,  almost  stony. 

"You  have  spoken  the  truth,  Gerald,"  he  said. 
"  There  are  other  things  in  the  world  besides  games. 
There  is  the  real,  the  tragical  side  of  life,  the  duties 
one  takes  up,  the  obligations  of  honour.  You  have 
not  forgotten,  young  man,  the  burden  you  carry?  " 

The  boy  was  paler,  but  he  had  drawn  himself  to 
his  full  height. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,  sir,"  he  answered  bitterly. 
"  Do  I  show  any  signs  of  forgetting?  Haven't  I  done 
your  bidding  year  by  year?  Aren't  I  here  now  to 
do  it?" 

"  Then  do  it ! "  Mr.  Fentolin  retorted  sharply. 
"  When  I  am  ready  for  you  to  leave  here,  you  shall 
leave.  Until  then,  you  are  mine.  Remember  that. 
Ah !  this  is  Doctor  Sarson  who  comes,  I  believe.  That 
must  mean  that  it  is  five  o'clock.  Come  in,  Doctor. 
I  am  not  engaged.  You  see,  I  am  alone  with  my  dear 
niece  and  nephew.  We  have  been  having  a  little 
pleasant  conversation." 

Doctor  Sarson  bowed  to  Esther,  who  scarcely 
glanced  at  him.  He  remained  in  the  background, 
quietly  waiting. 

"A  very  delightful  little  conversation,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin concluded.  "  I  have  been  congratulating  my 
nephew,  Doctor,  upon  his  wisdom  in  preferring  the 
quiet  country  life  down  here  to  the  wearisome  routine 
of  a  profession.  He  escapes  the  embarrassing  choice 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       91 

of  a  career  by  preferring  to  devote  his  life  to  my  com- 
fort. I  shall  not  forget  it.  I  shall  not  be  ungrate- 
ful. I  may  have  my  faults,  but  I  am  not  ungrateful. 
Run  away  now,  both  of  you.  Dear  children  you  are, 
but  one  wearies,  you  know,  of  everything.  I  am 
going  out.  You  see,  the  twilight  is  coming.  The 
tide  is  changing.  I  am  going  down  to  meet  the  sea." 

His  little  carriage  moved  towards  the  door.  The 
brother  and  sister  passed  out.  Esther  led  Gerald  into 
the  great  dining-room,  and  from  there,  through  the 
open  windows,  out  on  to  the  terrace.  She  gripped  his 
shoulder  and  pointed  down  to  the  Tower. 

"  Something,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  is  going 
to  happen  there." 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  little  station  at  which  Hamel  alighted  was  like 
an  oasis  in  the  middle  of  a  flat  stretch  of  sand  and 
marsh.  It  consisted  only  of  a  few  raised  planks 
and  a  rude  shelter  —  built,  indeed,  for  the  convenience 
of  St.  David's  Hall  alone,  for  the  nearest  village  was 
two  miles  away.  The  station-master,  on  his  return 
from  escorting  the  young  lady  to  her  car,  stared  at 
this  other  passenger  in  some  surprise. 

"  Which  way  to  the  sea  ?  "  Hamel  asked. 

The  man  pointed  to  the  white  gates  of  the  crossing. 

"  You  can  take  any  of  those  paths  you  like,  sir," 
he  said.  "  If  you  want  to  get  to  Salthouse,  though, 
you  should  have  got  out  at  the  next  station." 

"  This  will  do  for  me,"  Hamel  replied  cheerfully. 

"  Be  careful  of  the  dikes,"  the  station-master  ad- 
vised him.  "  Some  of  them  are  pretty  deep." 

Hamel  nodded,  and  passing  through  the  white 
gates,  made  his  way  by  a  raised  cattle  track  towards 
the  sea.  On  either  side  of  him  flowed  a  narrow  dike 
filled  with  salt-water.  Beyond  stretched  the  flat 
marshland,  its  mossy  turf  leavened  with  cracks  and 
creeks  of  all  widths,  filled  also  with  sea-slime  and  sea- 
water.  A  slight  grey  mist  rested  upon  the  more  dis- 
tant parts  of  the  wilderness  which  he  was  crossing, 
a  mist  which  seemed  to  be  blown  in  from  the  sea  in 
little  puffs,  resting  for  a  time  upon  the  earth,  and  then 
drifting  up  and  fading  away  like  soap  bubbles. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       93 

More  than  once  where  the  dikes  had  overflown  he 
was  compelled  to  change  his  course,  but  he  arrived 
at  last  at  the  little  ridge  of  pebbled  beach  bordering 
the  sea.  Straight  ahead  of  him  now  was  that  strange- 
looking  building  towards  which  he  had  all  the  time 
been  directing  his  footsteps.  As  he  approached  it,  his 
forehead  slightly  contracted.  There  was  ample  con- 
firmation before  him  of  the  truth  of  his  fellow-pas- 
senger's words.  The  place,  left  to  itself  for  so  many 
years,  without  any  attention  from  its  actual  owner, 
was  neither  deserted  nor  in  ruins.  Its  solid  grey 
stone  walls  were  sea-stained  and  a  trifle  worn,  but 
the  arched  wooden  doors  leading  into  the  lifeboat 
shelter,  which  occupied  one  side  of  the  building,  had 
been  newly  painted,  and  in  the  front  the  window  was 
hung  with  a  curtain,  now  closely  drawn,  of  some  dark 
red  material.  The  lock  from  the  door  had  been  re- 
moved altogether,  and  in  its  place  was  the  aperture 
for  a  Yale  latch-key.  The  last  note  of  modernity 
was  supplied  by  the  telephone  wire  attached  to  the 
roof  of  the  lifeboat  shelter.  He  walked  all  round 
the  building,  seeking  in  vain  for  some  other  means 
of  ingress.  Then  he  stood  for  a  few  moments  in 
front  of  the  curtained  window.  He  was  a  man  of 
somewhat  determined  disposition,  and  he  found  him- 
self vaguely  irritated  by  the  liberties  which  had  been 
taken  with  his  property.  He  hammered  gently  upon 
the  framework  with  his  fist,  and  the  windows  opened 
readily  inwards,  pushing  back  the  curtain  with  them. 
He  drew  himself  up  on  to  the  sill,  and,  squeezing  him- 
self through  the  opening,  landed  on  his  feet  and 
looked  around  him,  a  little  breathless. 

He  found  himself  in  a  simply  furnished  man's  sit- 


94       THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

ting-room.  An  easel  was  standing  close  to  the  win' 
dow.  There  were  reams  of  drawing  paper  and  several 
unfinished  sketches  leaning  against  the  wall.  There 
was  a  small  oak  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room; 
against  the  wall  stood  an  Exquisite  chiffonier,  on  which 
were  resting  some  cut-glass  decanters  and  goblets. 
There  was  a  Turkey  carpet  upon  the  floor  which 
matched  the  curtains,  but  to  his  surprise  there  was 
not  a  single  chair  of  any  sort  to  be  seen.  The  walls 
had  been  distempered  and  were  hung  with  one  or  two 
engravings  which,  although  he  was  no  judge,  he  was 
quite  sure  were  good.  He  wandered  into  the  back 
room,  where  he  found  a  stove,  a  tea-service  upon  a 
deal  table,  and  several  other  cooking  utensils,  all  spot- 
lessly clean  and  of  the  most  expensive  description. 
The  walls  here  were  plainly  whitewashed,  and  the  floor 
was  of  hard  stone.  He  then  tried  the  door  on  the 
left,  which  led  into  the  larger  portion  of  the  building 
—  the  shed  in  which  the  lifeboat  had  once  been  kept. 
Not  only  was  the  door  locked,  but  he  saw  at  once 
that  the  lock  was  modern,  and  the  door  itself  was 
secured  with  heavy  iron  clamps.  He  returned  to  the 
sitting-room. 

"  The  girl  with  the  grey  eyes  was  right  enough," 
he  remarked  to  himself.  "  Mr.  Fentolin  has  been 
making  himself  very  much  at  home  with  my  prop- 
erty." 

He  withdrew  the  curtains,  noticing,  to  his  surprise, 
the  heavy  shutters  which  their  folds  had  partly  con- 
cealed. Then  he  made  his  way  out  along  the  passage 
to  the  front  door,  which  from  the  inside  he  was  able 
to  open  easily  enough.  Leaving  it  carefully  ajar,  he 
went  out  with  the  intention  of  making  an  examination 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       95 

of  the  outside  of  the  place.  Instead,  however,  he 
paused  at  the  corner  of  the  building  with  his  face 
turned  landwards.  Exactly  fronting  him  now,  about 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  away,  on  the  summit  of  that 
strange  hill  which  stood  out  like  a  gigantic  rock 
in  the  wilderness,  was  St.  David's  Hall.  He  looked 
at  it  steadily  and  with  increasing  admiration.  Its 
long,  red  brick  front  with  its  masses  of  clustering 
chimneys,  a  little  bare  and  weather-beaten,  impressed 
him  with  a  sense  of  dignity  due  as  much  to  the  purity 
of  its  architecture  as  the  singularity  of  its  situation. 
Behind  —  a  wonderfully  effective  background  —  were 
the  steep  gardens  from  which,  even  in  this  uncertain 
light,  he  caught  faint  glimpses  of  colouring  subdued 
from  brilliancy  by  the  twilight.  These  were  encir- 
cled by  a  brick  wall  of  great  height,  the  whole  of 
the  southern  portion  of  which  was  enclosed  with  glass. 
From  the  fragment  of  rock  upon  which  he  had  seated 
himself,  to  the  raised  stone  terrace  in  front  of  the 
house,  was  an  absolutely  straight  path,  beautifully 
kept  like  an  avenue,  with  white  posts  on  either  side, 
and  built  up  to  a  considerable  height  above  the  broad 
tidal  way  which  ran  for  some  distance  by  its  side. 
It  had  almost  the  appearance  of  a  racing  track,  and 
its  state  of  preservation  in  the  midst  of  the  wilderness 
was  little  short  of  remarkable. 

"  This,"  Hamel  said  to  himself,  as  he  slowly  pro- 
duced a  pipe  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  fill  it  with 
tobacco  from  a  battered  silver  box,  "  is  a  queer  fix. 
Looks  rather  like  the  inn  for  me !  " 

"  And  who  might  you  be,  gentleman  ?  " 
He  turned   abruptly  around  towards  his  unseen 
questioner.     A  woman  was  standing  by  the  side  of 


96       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  rock  upon  which  he  was  sitting,  a  woman  from  the 
village,  apparently,  who  must  have  come  with  noise- 
less footsteps  along  the  sandy  way.  She  was  dressed 
in  rusty  black,  and  in  place  of  a  hat  she  wore  a  black 
woolen  scarf  tied  around  her  head  and  underneath 
her  chin.  Her  face  was  lined,  her  hair  of  a  deep 
brown  plentifully  besprinkled  with  grey.  She  had  a 
curious  habit  of  moving  her  lips,  even  when  she  was 
not  speaking.  She  stood  there  smiling  at  him,  but 
there  was  something  about  that  smile  and  about  her 
look  which  puzzled  him. 

"  I  am  just  a  visitor,"  he  replied.  "  Who  are 
you?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  saw  you  come  out  of  the  Tower,"  she  said, 
speaking  with  a  strong  local  accent  and  yet  with  a 
certain  unusual  correctness,  "  in  at  the  window  and 
out  of  the  door.  You're  a  brave  man." 

"  Why  brave  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  turned  her  head  very  slowly  towards  St.  David's 
Hall.  A  gleam  of  sunshine  had  caught  one  of  the 
windows,  which  shone  like  fire.  She  pointed  towards 
it  with  her  head. 

"  He's  looking  at  you,"  she  muttered.  "  He  don't 
like  strangers  poking  around  here,  that  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  And  who  is  he?  "  Hamel  enquired. 

"  Squire  Fentolin,"  she  answered,  dropping  her 
voice  a  little.  "  He's  a  very  kind-hearted  gentleman, 
Squire  Fentolin,  but  he  don't  like  strangers  hanging 
around." 

''  Well,  I  am  not  exactly  a  stranger,  you  see," 
Hamel  remarked.  "  My  father  used  to  stay  for 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       97 

months  at  a  time  in  that  little  shanty  there  and  paint 
pictures.  It's  a  good  many  years  ago." 

"  I  mind  him,"  the  woman  said  slowly.  "  His  name 
was  Hamel." 

"  I  am  his  son,"  Hamel  announced. 

She  pointed  to  the  Hall.  "  Does  he  know  that  you 
are  here?  " 

Hamel  shook  his  head.  "  Not  yet.  I  have  been 
abroad  for  so  long." 

She  suddenly  relapsed  into  her  curious  habit.  Her 
lips  moved,  but  no  words  came.  She  had  turned  her 
head  a  little  and  was  facing  the  sea. 

"  Tell  me,"  Hamel  asked  gently,  "  why  do  you 
come  out  here  alone,  so  far  from  the  village?  " 

She  pointed  with  her  finger  to  where  the  waves  were 
breaking  in  a  thin  line  of  white,  about  fifty  yards 
from  the  beach. 

"  It's  the  cemetery,  that,"  she  said,  "  the  village 
cemetery,  you  know.  I  have  three  buried  there: 
George,  the  eldest ;  James,  the  middle  one ;  and  David, 
the  youngest.  Three  of  them  —  that's  why  I  come. 
I  can't  put  flowers  on  their  graves,  but  I  can  sit  and 
watch  and  look  through  the  sea,  down  among  the 
rocks  where  their  bodies  are,  and  wonder." 

Hamel  looked  at  her  curiously.  Her  voice  had 
grown  lower  and  lower. 

"  It's  what  you  land  folks  4<>n't  believe,  perhaps," 
she  went  on,  "  but  it's  true.  It's  only  us  who  live 
near  the  sea  who  understand  it.  I  am  not  an  igno- 
rant body,  either.  I  was  schoolmistress  here  before 
I  married  David  Cox.  They  thought  I'd  done  wrong 
to  marry  a  fisherman,  but  I  bore  him  brave  sons, 
and  I  lived  the  life  a  woman  craves  for.  No,  I  am  not 


98       THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

ignorant.  I  have  fancies,  perhaps  —  the  Lord  be 
praised  for  them !  —  and  I  tell  you  it's  true.  You 
look  at  a  spot  in  the  sea  and  you  see  nothing  —  a 
gleam  of  blue,  a  fleck  of  white  foam,  one  day ;  a  gleam 
of  green  with  a  black  line,  another ;  and  a  grey  little 
sob,  the  next,  perhaps.  But  you  go  on  looking. 
You  look  day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour,  and  the 
chasms  of  the  sea  will  open,  and  their  voices  will 
come  to  you.  Listen !  " 

She  clutched  his  arm. 

"Couldn't  you  hear  that?"  she  half  whispered. 
"  '  The  light ! '  It  was  David's  voice !  «  The  light ! '  " 

Hamel  was  speechless.  The  woman's  face  was  sud- 
denly strangely  transformed.  Her  mood,  however, 
swiftly  changed.  She  turned  once  more  towards  the 
hall. 

"  You'll  know  him  soon,"  she  went  on,  "  the  kindest 
man  in  these  parts,  they  say.  It's  not  much  that 
he  gives  away,  but  he's  a  kind  heart.  You  see  that 
great  post  at  the  entrance  to  the  river  there?  "  she 
went  on,  pointing  to  it.  "  He  had  that  set  up  and 
a  lamp  hung  from  there.  Fentolin's  light,  they  call 
it.  It  was  to  save  men's  lives.  It  was  burning,  they 
say,  the  night  I  lost  my  lads.  Fentolin's  light !  " 

"  They  were  wrecked  ?  "  he  asked  her  gently. 

"  Wrecked,"  she  answered.  "  Bad  steering  it  must 
have  been.  James  would  steer,  and  they  say  that  he 
drank  a  bit.  Bad  steering !  Yes,  you'll  meet  Squire 
Fentolin  before  long.  He's  queer  to  look  at  —  a 
small  body  but  a  great,  kind  heart.  A  miserable  life, 
his,  but  it  will  be  made  up  to  him.  It  will  be  made 
up  to  him !  " 

She  turned  away.     Her  lips  were  moving  all  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       99 

time.  She  walked  about  a  dozen  steps,  and  then  she 
returned. 

"  You're  Hamel's  son,  the  painter,"  she  said. 
"  You'll  be  welcome  down  here.  He'll  have  you  to 
stay  at  the  Hall  —  a  brave  place.  Don't  let  him  be 
too  kind  to  you.  Sometimes  kindness  hurts." 

She  passed  on,  walking  with  a  curious,  shambling 
gait,  and  soon  she  disappeared  on  her  way  to  the 
village.  Hamel  watched  her  for  a  moment  and  then 
turned  his  head  towards  St.  David's  Hall.  He  felt 
somehow  that  her  abrupt  departure  was  due  to  some- 
thing which  she  had  seen  in  that  direction.  He  rose 
to  his  feet.  His  instinct  had  been  a  true  one. 


CHAPTER  XH 

From  where  Hamel  stood  a  queer  object  came 
strangely  into  sight.  Below  the  terrace  of  St. 
David's  Hall  —  from  a  spot,  in  fact,  at  the  base  of 
the  solid  wall  —  it  seemed  as  though  a  gate  had  been 
opened,  and  there  came  towards  him  what  he  at  first 
took  to  be  a  tricycle.  As  it  came  nearer,  it  presented 
even  a  weirder  appearance.  Mr.  Fentolin,  in  a  black 
cape  and  black  skull  cap,  sat  a  little  forward  in  his 
electric  carriage,  with  his  hand  upon  the  guiding 
lever.  His  head  came  scarcely  above  the  back  of  the 
little  vehicle,  his  hands  and  body  were  motionless. 
He  seemed  to  be  progressing  without  the  slightest  ef- 
fort, personal  or  mechanical,  as  though  he  rode,  in- 
deed, in  some  ghostly  vehicle.  From  the  same  place 
in  the  wall  had  issued,  a  moment  or  two  later,  a  man 
upon  a  bicycle,  who  was  also  coming  towards  him. 
Hamel  was  scarcely  conscious  of  this  secondary  fig- 
ure. .  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  strange  personage 
now  rapidly  approaching  him.  There  was  something 
which  seemed  scarcely  human  in  that  shrunken  frag- 
ment of  body,  the  pale  face  with  its  waving  white  hair, 
the  strange  expression  with  which  he  was  being  re- 
garded. The  little  vehicle  came  to  a  standstill  only  a 
few  feet  away.  Mr.  Fentolin  leaned  forward.  His 
features  had  lost  their  delicately  benevolent  aspect; 
his  words  were  minatory. 

"  I  am  under  the  impression,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      101 

I    saw    you    with    my    glasses    from    the    window, 
attempting   to   force   an   entrance   into   that   build- 

ing." 

Hamel  nodded. 

"  I  not  only  tried  but  I  succeeded,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  got  in  through  the  window." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  eyes  glittered  for  a  moment.  Hamel, 
who  had  resumed  his  place  upon  the  rock  close  at 
hand,  had  been  mixed  up  during  his  lifetime  in  many 
wild  escapades.  Yet  at  that  moment  he  had  a  sudden 
feeling  that  there  were  dangers  in  life  which  as  yet 
he  had  not  faced. 

"  May  I  ask  for  your  explanation  or  your  ex- 
cuse ?  " 

"  You  can  call  it  an  explanation  or  an  excuse, 
whichever  you  like,"  Hamel  replied  steadily,  "  but  the 
fact  is  that  this  little  building,  which  some  one  else 
seems  to  have  appropriated,  is  mine.  If  I  had  not 
been  a  good-natured  person,  I  should  be  engaged,  at 
the  present  moment,  in  turning  out  its  furniture  on 
to  the  beach." 

"What  is  your  name?"  Mr.  Fentolin  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  My  name  is  Hamel  —  Richard  Hamel." 

For  several  moments  there  was  silence.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin was  still  leaning  forward  in  his  strange  little  ve- 
hicle. The  colour  seemed  to  have  left  even  his  lips. 
The  hard  glitter  in  his  eyes  had  given  place  to  an 
expression  almost  like  fear.  He  looked  at  Richard 
Hamel  as  though  he  were  some  strange  sea-monster 
come  up  from  underneath  the  sands. 

"  Richard  Hamel,"  he  repeated.  "  Do  you  mean 
that  you  are  the  son  of  Hamel,  the  R.A.,  who  used 


102      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

to  be  in  these  parts  so  often?  He  was  my  brother's 
friend." 

"  I  am  his  son." 

"  But  his  son  was  killed  in  the  San  Francisco  earth- 
quake. I  saw  his  name  in  all  the  lists.  It  was 
copied  into  the  local  papers  here." 

Hamel  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"  I  take  a  lot  of  killing,"  he  observed.  "  I  was  in 
that  earthquake,  right  enough,  and  in  the  hospital 
afterwards,  but  it  was  a  man  named  Hamel  of  Phil- 
adelphia who  died." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  quite  motionless  for  several  mo- 
ments. He  seemed,  if  possible,  to  have  shrunken 
into  something  smaller  still.  A  few  yards  behind, 
Meekins  had  alighted  from  his  bicycle  and  was  stand- 
ing waiting. 

"  So  you  are  Richard  Hamel,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said 
at  last  very  softly.  "  Welcome  back  to  England, 
Richard  Hamel!  I  knew  your  father  slightly,  al- 
though we  were  never  very  friendly." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  from  underneath  the 
coverlet  of  his  little  vehicle  —  a  hand  with  long,  white 
fingers,  slim  and  white  and  shapely  as  a  woman's.  A 
single  ring  with  a  dull  green  stone  was  on  his  fourth 
finger.  Hamel  shook  hands  with  him  as  he  would 
have  shaken  hands  with  a  woman.  Afterwards  he 
rubbed  his  fingers  slowly  together.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  touch  which  worried  him. 

"  You  have  been  making  use  of  this  little  shanty, 
haven't  you  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded.  He  was  apparently  begin- 
ning to  recover  himself. 

14  You  must  remember,"  he  explained  suavely,  "  that 


THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER      103 

it  was  built  by  my  grandfather,  and  that  we  have 
had  rights  over  the  whole  of  the  foreshore  here  from 
time  immemorial.  I  know  quite  well  that  my  brother 
gave  it  to  your  father  —  or  rather  he  sold  it  to  him 
for  a  nominal  sum.  I  must  tell  you  that  it  was  a  most 
complicated  transaction.  He  had  the  greatest  dif- 
ficulty in  getting  any  lawyer  to  draft  the  deed  of  sale. 
There  were  so  many  ancient  rights  and  privileges 
which  it  was  impossible  to  deal  with.  Even  now  there 
are  grave  doubts  as  to  the  validity  of  the  transaction. 
When  nothing  was  heard  of  you,  and  we  all  concluded 
that  you  were  dead,  I  ventured  to  take  back  what  I 
honestly  believed  to  be  my  own.  Owing,"  he  con- 
tinued slowly,  "  to  my  unfortunate  affliction,  I  am 
obliged  to  depend  for  interest  in  my  life  upon  various 
hobbies.  This  little  place,  queerly  enough,  has  be- 
come one  of  them.  I  have  furnished  it,  in  a  way; 
installed  the  telephone  to  the  house,  connected  it  with 
my  electric  plant,  and  I  come  down  here  when  I  want 
to  be  quite  alone,  and  paint.  I  watch  the  sea  —  such 
a  sea  sometimes,  such  storms,  such  colour!  You  no- 
tice that  ridge  of  sand  out  yonder?  It  forms  a  sort  of 
natural  breakwater.  Even  on  the  calmest  day  you 
can  trace  that  white  line  of  foam." 

"  It  is  a  strange  coast,"  Hamel  admitted. 

Mr.  Fentolin  pointed  with  his  forefinger  north- 
wards. 

"  Somewhere  about  there,"  he  indicated,  "  is  the 
entrance  to  the  tidal  river  which  flows  up  to  the  vil- 
lage of  St.  David's  yonder.  You  see?  " 

His  finger  traced  its  course  until  it  came  to  a  cer- 
tain point  near  the  beach,  where  a  tall  black  pillar 
stood,  surmounted  by  a  globe. 


104     THE   VA-NISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  have  had  a  light  fixed  there  for  the  benefit  of 
the  fishermen,"  he  said,  "  a  light  which  I  work  from 
my  own  dynamo.  Between  where  we  are  sitting  now 
and  there  —  only  a  little  way  out  to  sea  —  is  a 
jagged  cluster  of  cruel  rocks.  You  can  see  them  if 
you  care  to  swim  out  in  calm  weather.  Fishermen 
who  tried  to  come  in  by  night  were  often  trapped 
there  and,  in  a  rough  sea,  drowned.  That  is  why  I 
had  that  pillar  of  light  built.  On  stormy  nights  it 
shows  the  exact  entrance  to  the  water  causeway." 

"  Very  kind  of  you  indeed,"  Hamel  remarked, 
"  very  benevolent." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  So  few  people  have  any  real  feeling  for  sailors," 
he  continued.  "  The  fishermen  around  here  are  cer- 
tainly rather  a  casual  class.  Do  you  know  that  there 
is  scarcely  one  of  them  who  can  swim?  There  isn't 
one  of  them  who  isn't  too  lazy  to  learn  even  the  sim- 
plest stroke.  My  brother  used  to  say  —  dear  Gerald 
—  that  it  served  them  right  if  they  were  drowned.  I 
have  never  been  able  to  feel  like  that,  Mr.  Hamel. 
Life  is  such  a  wonderful  thing.  One  night,"  he  went 
on,  dropping  his  voice  and  leaning  a  little  forward  in 
his  carriage  — "  it  was  just  before,  or  was  it  just  after 
I  had  fixed  that  light  —  I  was  down  here  one  dark 
winter  night.  There  was  a  great  north  wind  and  a 
huge  sea  running.  It  was  as  black  as  pitch,  but  I 
heard  a  boat  making  for  St.  David's  causeway  strike 
on  those  rocks  just  hidden  in  front  there.  I  heard 
those  fishermen  shriek  as  they  went  under.  I  heard 
their  shouts  for  help,  I  heard  their  death  cries.  Very 
terrible,  Mr.  Hamel !  Very  terrible !  " 

Hamel  looked  at  the  speaker  curiously.     Mr.  Fen-- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      105 

tolin  seemed  absorbed  in  his  subject.  He  had  spoken 
with  relish,  as  one  who  loves  the  things  he  speaks 
about.  Quite  unaccountably,  Hamel  found  himself 
shivering. 

"  It  was  their  mother,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued, 
leaning  again  a  little  forward  in  his  chair,  "  their* 
mother  whom  I  saw  pass  along  the  beach  just  now  — 
a  widow,  too,  poor  thing.  She  comes  here  often  — 
a  morbid  taste.  She  spoke  to  you,  I  think?  " 

"  She  spoke  to  me  strangely,"  Hamel  admitted. 
"  She  gave  me  the  impression  of  a  woman  whose  brain 
had  been  turned  with  grief." 

"  Too  true,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  "  The  poor 
creature !  I  offered  her  a  small  pension,  but  she  would 
have  none  of  it.  A  superior  woman  in  her  way  once, 
filled  now  with  queer  fancies,"  he  went  on,  eyeing 
Hamel  steadily, — "  the  very  strangest  fancies.  She 
spends  her  life  prowling  about  here.  No  one  in  the 
village  even  knows  how  she  lives.  Did  she  speak  of 
me,  by-the-by  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  of  you  as  being  a  very  kind-hearted 
man." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  The  poor  creature !  Well,  well,  let  us  revert  to 
the  object  of  your  coming  here.  Do  you  really  wish 
to  occupy  this  little  shanty,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 

"  That  was  my  idea,"  Hamel  confessed.  "  I  only 
came  back  from  Mexico  last  month,  and  I  very  soon 
got  fed  up  with  life  in  town.  I  am  going  abroad 
again  next  year.  Till  then,  I  am  rather  <at  a  loose 
end.  My  father  was  always  very  keen  indeed  about 
this  place,  and  very  anxious  that  I  should  come  and 
stay  here  for  a  little  time,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to 


io6     THE   VANISHED   MESSENGER 

run  down.  I've  got  some  things  waiting  at  Norwich. 
I  thought  I  might  hire  a  woman  to  look  after  me  and 
spend  a  few  weeks  here.  They  tell  me  that  the  early 
spring  is  almost  the  best  time  for  this  coast." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  slowly.  He  moistened  his  lips 
for  a  moment.  One  might  have  imagined  that  he  was 
anxious. 

"  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  are  quite  right. 
It  is  the  best  time  to  visit  this  coast.  But  why  make 
a  hermit  of  yourself?  You  are  a  family  friend. 
Come  and  stay  with  us  at  the  Hall  for  as  long  as 
you  like.  It  will  give  me  the  utmost  pleasure  to  wel- 
come you  there,"  he  went  on  earnestly,  "  and  as  for 
this  little  place,  of  what  use  is  it  to  you?  Let  me 
buy  it  from  you.  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  I  can 
see.  You  may  be  rich,  yet  money  has  a  definite  value. 
To  me  it  has  none.  That  little  place,  as  it  stands,  is 
probably  worth  —  say  a  hundred  pounds.  Your 
father  gave,  if  I  remember  rightly,  a  five  pound  note 
for  it.  I  will  give  you  a  thousand  for  it  sooner  than 
be  disturbed." 

Hamel  frowned  slightly. 

"  I  could  not  possibly  think,"  he  said,  "  of  selling 
what  was  practically  a  gift  to  my  father.  You  are 
welcome  to  occupy  the  place  during  my  absence  in 
any  way  you  wish.  On  the  other  hand,  I  do  not  think 
that  I  care  to  part  with  it  altogether,  and  I  should 
really  like  to  spend  just  a  day  or  so  here.  I  am  used 
to  roughing  it  under  all  sorts  of  conditions  —  much 
more  used  to  roughing  it  than  I  am  to  staying  at 
country  houses." 

Mr.  Fentolin  leaned  a  little  out  of  his  carriage.  He 
reached  the  younger  man's  shoulder  with  his  hand. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      107 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  pleaded,  "  don't  make  up 
your  mind  too  suddenly.  Am  I  a  little  spoilt,  I 
wonder?  Well,  you  see  what  sort  of  a  creature  I 
am.  I  have  to  go  through  life  as  best  I  may,  and  peo- 
ple are  kind  to  me.  It  is  very  seldom  I  am  crossed. 
It  is  quite  astonishing  how  often  people  let  me  have 
my  own  way.  Do  not  make  up  your  mind  too  sud- 
denly. I  have  a  niece  and  a  nephew  whom  you  must 
meet.  There  are  some  treasures,  too,  at  St.  David's 
Hall.  Look  at  it.  There  isn't  another  house  quite 
like  it  in  England.  It  is  worth  looking  over." 

"  It  is  most  impressive,"  Hamel  agreed,  "  and 
wonderfully  beautiful.  It  seems  odd,"  he  added,  with 
a  laugh,  "  that  you  should  care  about  this  little  shanty 
here,  with  all  the  beautiful  rooms  you  must  have  of 
your  own." 

"  It's  Naboth's  vineyard,"  Mr.  Fentolin  groaned. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Hamel,  you  are  going  to  be  gracious, 
aren't  you?  Let  us  leave  the  question  of  your  little 
habitation  here  alone  for  the  present.  Come  back 
with  me.  My  niece  shall  give  you  some  tea,  and 
you  shall  choose  your  room  from  forty.  You  can 
sleep  in  a  haunted  chamber,  or  a  historical  chamber, 
in  Queen  Elizabeth's  room,  a  Victorian  chamber,  or 
a  Louis  Quinze  room.  All  my  people  have  spent 
their  substance  in  furniture.  Don't  look  at  your 
bag.  Clothes  are  unnecessary.  I  can  supply  you 
with  everything.  Or,  if  you  prefer  it,  I  can  send  a 
fast  car  into  Norwich  for  your  own  things.  Come 
and  be  my  guest,  please." 

Hamel  hesitated.  He  had  not  the  slightest  desire 
to  go  to  St.  David's  Hall,  and  though  he  strove  to 
ignore  it,  he  was  conscious  of  an  aversion  of  which 


io8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

he  was  heartily  ashamed  for  this  strange  fragment  o! 
humanity.  On  the  other  hand,  his  mission,  the  ac- 
tual mission  which  had  brought  him  down  to  these 
parts,  could  certainly  best  be  served  by  an  entree 
into  the  Hall  itself  —  and  there  was  the  girl,  whom 
he  felt  sure  belonged  there.  He  had  never  for  a 
moment  been  able  to  dismiss  her  from  his  thoughts. 
Her  still,  cold  face,  the  delicate  perfection  of  her 
clothes  and  figure,  the  grey  eyes  which  had  rested 
upon  his  so  curiously,  haunted  him.  He  was  des- 
perately anxious  to  see  her  again.  If  he  refused 
this  invitation,  if  he  rejected  Mr.  Fentolin's  proffered 
friendship,  it  would  be  all  the  more  difficult. 

"  You  are  really  very  kind,"  he  began  hesita- 
tingly — 

"  It  is  settled,"  Mr.  Fentolin  interrupted,  "  set- 
tled. Meekins,  you  can  ride  back  again.  I  shall 
not  paint  to-day.  Mr.  Hamel,  you  will  walk  by  my 
side,  will  you  not?  I  can  run  my  little  machine 
quite  slowly.  You  see,  I  have  an  electric  battery. 
It  needs  charging  often,  but  I  have  a  dynamo  of  my 
own.  You  never  saw  a  vehicle  like  this  in  all  your 
travellings,  did  you?  " 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  An  electrical  bath-chair,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued. "  Practice  has  made  me  remarkably  skil- 
ful in  its  manipulation.  You  see,  I  can  steer  to  an 
inch." 

He  was  already  turning  around.  Hamel  rose  to 
his  feet. 

"  You  are  really  very  kind,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
like  to  come  up  and  see  the  Hall,  at  any  rate,  but  in 
the  meantime,  as  we  are  here,  could  I  just  look  over 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      109 

the  inside  of  this  little  place?  I  found  the  large 
shed  where  the  lifeboat  used  to  be  kept,  locked  up." 

Mr.  Fentolin  was  manoeuvring  his  carriage.  His 
back  was  towards  Hamel. 

"  By  all  means,"  he  declared.  "  We  will  go  in 
together.  I  have  had  the  entrance  widened  so  that 
I  can  ride  straight  into  the  sitting-room.  But 
wait." 

He  paused  suddenly.     He  felt  in  all  his  pockets. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  find  that  I  have  left 
the  keys !  We  will  come  down  a  little  later,  if  you 
do  not  mind,  Mr.  Hamel.  Or  to-morrow,  perhaps. 
You  will  not  mind?  It  is  very  careless  of  me,  but 
seeing  you  about  the  place  and  imagining  that  you 
were  an  intruder,  made  me  angry,  and  I  started  off  in 
a  hurry.  Now  walk  by  my  side  up  to  the  house, 
please,  and  talk  to  me.  It  is  so  interesting  for  me 
to  meet  men,"  he  went  on,  as  they  started  along  the 
straight  path,  "  who  do  things  in  life ;  who  go  to  for- 
eign countries,  meet  strange  people,  and  have  new  ex- 
periences. I  have  been  a  good  many  years  like  this, 
you  know." 

"  It  is  a  great  affliction,"  Hamel  murmured  sym- 
pathetically. 

"  In  my  youth  I  was  an  athlete,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued. "  I  played  cricket  for  the  Varsity  and  for 
my  county.  I  hunted,  too,  and  shot.  I  did  all  the 
things  a  man  loves  to  do.  I  might  still  shoot,  they 
tell  me,  but  my  strength  has  ebbed  away.  I  am  too 
weak  to  lift  a  gun,  too  weak  even  to  handle  a  fishing- 
rod.  I  have  just  a  few  hobbies  in  life  which  keep  me 
alive.  Are  you  a  politician,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Hamel  replied.     "  I  have  been 


no      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 
out  of  England  too  long  to  keep  in  touch  with  poli- 
tics." 

"  Naturally,"  Mr.  Fentolin  agreed.  "  It  amuses 
me  to  follow  the  course  of  events.  I  have  a  good 
many  friends  in  London  and  abroad  who  are  kind  to 
me,  who  keep  me  informed,  send  me  odd  bits  of  infor- 
mation not  available  for  every  one,  and  it  amuses  me 
to  put  these  things  together  in  my  mind  and  to  try 
and  play  the  prophet.  I  was  in  the  Foreign  Office 
once,  you  know.  I  take  up  my  paper  every  morning, 
and  it  is  one  of  my  chief  interests  to  see  how  near 
my  own  speculations  come  to  the  truth.  Just  now, 
for  example,  there  are  strange  things  doing  on  the 
Continent." 

"  In  America,"  Hamel  remarked,  "  they  affect  to 
look  upon  England  as  a  doomed  Power." 

"  Not  altogether  supine  yet,"  Mr.  Fentolin  ob- 
served, "  yet  even  this  last  generation  has  seen  a 
weakening.  We  have  lost  so  much  self-reliance. 
Perhaps  it  is  having  these  grown-up  children  who  we 
think  can  take  care  of  us  —  Canada  and  Australia, 
and  the  others.  However,  we  will  not  talk  of  poli- 
tics. It  bores  you,  I  can  see.  We  will  try  and 
find  some  other  subject.  Now  tell  me,  don't  you 
think  this  is  ingenious  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  upon  which 
the  Kail  was  situated.  In  front  of  them,  under- 
neath the  terrace,  was  a  little  iron  gate,  held  open 
now  by  Meekins,  who  had  gone  on  ahead  and  dis- 
mounted from  his  bicycle. 

"  I  have  a  subterranean  way  from  here  into  the 
Hall,"  Mr.  Fentolin  explained.  "  Come  with  me. 
You  will  only  have  to  stoop  a  little,  and  it  may 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      in 

amuse  you.  You  need  not  be  afraid.  There  are 
electric  lights  every  ten  yards.  I  turn  them  on  with 
this  switch  —  see." 

Mr.  Fentolin  touched  a  button  in  the  wall,  and 
the  place  was  at  once  brilliantly  illuminated.  A  little 
row  of  lights  from  the  ceiling  and  the  walls  stretched 
away  as  far  ss  one  could  see.  They  passed  through 
the  iron  gates,  which  shut  behind  them  with  a  click. 
Stooping  a  little,  Hamel  was  still  able  to  walk  by  the 
side  of  the  man  in  the  chair.  They  traversed  about 
a  hundred  yards  of  subterranean  way.  Here  and 
there  a  fungus  hung  down  from  the  wall,  otherwise 
it  was  beautifully  kept  and  dry.  By  and  by,  with  a 
little  turn,  they  came  to  an  incline  and  another  iron 
gate,  held  open  for  them  by  a  footman.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin sped  up  the  last  few  feet  into  the  great  hall, 
which  seemed  more  imposing  than  ever  by  reason  of 
this  unexpected  entrance.  Hamel,  blinking  a  little, 
stepped  to  his  side. 

"  Welcome !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  cried  gaily.  "  Wel- 
come, my  friend  Mr.  Hamel,  to  St.  David's  Hall ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

During  the  next  half-hour,  Hamel  was  introduced 
to  luxuries  to  which,  in  a  general  way,  he  was  en- 
tirely unaccustomed.  One  man-servant  was  busy  pre- 
paring his  bath  in  a  room  leading  out  of  his  sleeping 
apartment,  while  another  brought  him  a  choice  of 
evening  clothes  and  superintended  his  disrobing. 
Hamel,  always  observant,  studied  his  surroundings 
with  keen,  interest.  He  found  himself  in  a  queerly 
mixed  atmosphere  of  luxurious  modernity  and  stately 
antiquity.  His  four-poster,  the  huge  couch  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed,  and  all  the  furniture  about  the  room, 
was  of  the  Queen  Anne  period.  The  bathroom 
which  communicated  with  his  apartment  was  the  latest 
triumph  of  the  plumber's  art  —  a  room  with  floor 
and  walls  of  white  tiles,  the  bath  itself  a  little  sunken 
and  twice  the  ordinary  size.  He  dispensed  so  far 
as  he  could  with  the  services  of  the  men  and  de- 
scended, as  soon  as  he  was  dressed,  into  the  hall. 
Meekins  was  waiting  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs, 
dressed  now  in  somber  black. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  will  be  glad  if  you  will  step  into  his 
room,  sir,"  he  announced,  leading  the  way. 

Mr.  Fentolin  was  seated  in  his  chair,  reading  the 
Times  in  a  corner  of  his  library.  Shaped  blocks 
had  been  placed  behind  and  in  front  of  the  wheels  of 
his  little  vehicle,  to  prevent  it  from  moving.  A 
shaded  reading-lamp  stood  on  the  table  by  his  side. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      113 

He  did  not  at  once  look  up,  and  Hamel  glanced 
around  with  genuine  admiration.  The  shelves  which 
lined  the  walls  and  the  winged  cases  which  protruded 
into  the  room  were  filled  with  books.  There  was  a 
large  oak  table  with  beautifully  carved  legs,  piled  with 
all  sorts  of  modern  reviews  and  magazines.  A  log 
fire  was  burning  in  the  big  oaken  grate.  The  per- 
fume from  a  great  bowl  of  lavender  seemed  to  mingle 
curiously  yet  pleasantly  with  the  half  musty  odour 
of  the  old  leather-bound  volumes.  The  massive  chim- 
neypiece  was  of  black  oak,  and  above  it  were  carved 
the  arms  of  the  House  of  Fentolin.  The  walls  were 
oak-panelled  to  the  ceiling. 

"  Refreshed,  I  hope,  by  your  bath  and  change,  my 
dear  visitor  ?  "  the  head  of  the  house  remarked,  as  he 
laid  down  his  paper.  "  Draw  a  chair  up  here  and 
join  me  in  a  glass  of  vermouth.  You  need  not  be 
afraid  of  it.  It  comes  to  me  from  the  maker  as  a 
special  favour." 

Hamel  accepted  a  quaintly-cut  wine-glass  full  of 
the  amber  liquid.  Mr.  Fentolin  sipped  his  with  the 
air  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  This,"  he  continued,  "  is  one  of  our  informal 
days.  There  is  no  one  in  the  house  save  my  sister-in- 
law,  niece,  and  nephew,  and  a  poor  invalid  gentleman 
who,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  confined  to  his  bed.  My 
sister-in-law  is  also,  I  regret  to  say,  indisposed.  She 
desired  me  to  present  her  excuses  to  you  and  say  how 
greatly  she  is  looking  forward  to  making  your  ac- 
quaintance during  the  next  few  days." 

Hamel  bowed. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  he  murmured. 

"  On  these  occasions,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued,  "  we 


ii4      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

do  not  make  use  of  a  drawing-room.  My  niece  will 
come  in  here  presently.  You  are  looking  at  my 
books,  I  see.  Are  you,  by  any  chance,  a  bibliophile? 
I  have  a  case  of  manuscripts  here  which  might  interest 
you." 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  Only  in  the  abstract,  I  fear,"  he  answered.  "  I 
have  scarcely  opened  a  serious  book  since  I  was  at 
Oxford." 

"  What  was  your  year  ?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  asked. 

"  Fourteen  years  ago  I  left  Magdalen,"  Hamel  re- 
plied. "  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be  an  engineer, 
and  I  went  over  to  the  Boston  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  appreciatively. 

"  A  magnificent  profession,"  he  murmured.  "  A 
healthy  one,  too,  I  should  judge  from  your  appear- 
ance. You  are  a  strong  man,  Mr.  Hamel." 

"  I  have  had  reason  to  be,"  Hamel  rejoined.  "  Dur- 
ing nearly  the  whole  of  the  time  I  have  been  abroad,  I 
have  been  practically  pioneering.  Building  railways 
in  the  far  West,  with  gangs  of  Chinese  and  Italians 
and  Hungarians  and  scarcely  a  foreman  who  isn't 
terrified  of  his  job,  isn't  exactly  drawing-room  work." 

"  You  are  going  back  there  ?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  asked, 
with  interest. 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  no  plans,"  he  declared.  "  I  have  been 
fortunate  enough,  or  shall  I  some  day  say  unfortu- 
nate enough,  I  wonder,  to  have  inherited  a  large  leg- 
acy." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled. 

"  Don't  ever  doubt  your  good  fortune,"  he  said 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      115 

earnestly.  "  The  longer  I  live  —  and  in  my  limited 
way  I  do  see  a  good  deal  of  life  —  the  more  I  appre- 
ciate the  fact  that  there  isn't  anything  in  this  world 
that  compares  with  the  power  of  money.  I  distrust 
a  poor  man.  He  may  mean  to  be  honest,  but  he  is 
at  all  times  subject  to  temptation.  Ah!  here  is  my 
niece." 

Mr.  Fentolin  turned  towards  the  door.  Hamel 
rose  at  once  to  his  feet.  His  surmise,  then,  had  been 
correct.  She  was  coming  towards  them  very  quietly. 
In  her  soft  grey  dinner-gown,  her  brown  hair  smoothly 
brushed  back,  a  pearl  necklace  around  her  long,  deli- 
cate neck,  she  seemed  to  him  a  very  exquisite  embodi- 
ment of  those  memories  which  he  had  been  carrying 
about  throughout  the  afternoon. 

"  Here,  Mr.  Hamel,"  his  host  said,  "  is  a  member  of 
my  family  who  has  been  a  deserter  for  a  short  time. 
This  is  Mr.  Richard  Hamel,  Esther;  my  niece,  Miss 
Esther  Fentolin." 

She  held  out  her  hand  with  the  faintest  possible 
smile,  which  might  have  been  of  greeting  or  recogni- 
tion. 

"  I  travelled  for  some  distance  in  the  train  with 
Mr.  Hamel  this  afternoon,  I  think."  she  remarked. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  exclaimed.  "  Dear  me, 
that  is  very  interesting  —  very  interesting,  indeed ! 
Mr.  Hamel,  I  am  sure,  did  not  tell  you  of  his  destina- 
tion? " 

He  watched  them  keenly.  Hamel,  though  he 
scarcely  understood,  was  quick  to  appreciate  the  pos- 
sible significance  of  that  tentative  question. 

"  We  did  not  exchange  confidences,"  he  observed. 
"  Miss  Fentolin  only  changed  into  my  carriage  during 


n6      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  last  few  minutes  of  her  journey.  Besides,"  he 
continued,  "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  ideas  as  to  my 
destination  were  a  little  hazy.  To  come  and  look 
for  some  queer  sort  of  building  by  the  side  of  the  sea, 
which  has  been  unoccupied  for  a  dozen  years  or  so, 
scarcely  seems  a  reasonable  quest,  does  it  ?  " 

"  Scarcely,  indeed,"  Mr.  Fentolin  assented.  "  You 
may  thank  me,  Mr.  Hamel,  for  the  fact  that  the  place 
is  not  in  ruins.  My  blatant  trespassing  has  saved 
you  from  that,  at  least.  After  dinner  we  must  talk 
further  about  the  Tower.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  have  grown  accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  little 
place." 

The  sound  of  the  dinner  gong  boomed  through  the 
house.  A  moment  later  Gerald  entered,  followed  by 
a  butler  announcing  dinner. 

"  The  only  remaining  member  of  my  family,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  remarked,  indicating  his  nephew.  "  Gerald, 
you  will  be  pleased,  I  know,  to  meet  Mr.  Hamel.  Mr. 
Hamel  has  been  a  great  traveller.  Long  before  you 
can  remember,  his  father  used  to  paint  wonderful 
pictures  of  this  coast." 

Gerald  shook  hands  with  his  visitor.  His  face, 
for  a  moment,  lighted  up.  He  was  looking  pale, 
though,  and  singularly  sullen  and  dejected. 

'  There  are  two  of  your  father's  pictures  in  the 
modern  side  of  the  gallery  up-stairs,"  he  remarked, 
a  little  diffidently.  "  They  are  great  favourites  with 
everybody  here." 

They  all  went  in  to  dinner  together.  Meekins,  who 
had  appeared  silently,  had  glided  unnoticed  behind  his 
master's  chair  and  wheeled  it  across  the  hall. 

"  A  pwrtie  carree  to-night,"  Mr.  Fentolin  declared. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      117 

"  I  have  a  resident  doctor  here,  a  very  delightful  per- 
son, who  often  dines  with  us,  but  to-night  I  thought 
not.  Five  is  an  awkward  number.  I  want  to  get 
to  know  you  better,  Mr.  Hamel,  and  quickly.  I  want 
you,  too,  to  make  friends  with  my  niece  and  nephew. 
Mr.  Hamel's  father,"  he  went  on,  addressing  the  two 
latter,  "  and  your  father  were  great  friends.  By-the- 
by,  have  I  told  you  both  exactly  why  Mr.  Hamel  is  a 
guest  here  to-night  —  why  he  came  to  these  parts  at 
all?  No?  Listen,  then.  He  came  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  Tower.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  it  belongs 
to  him,  too.  His  father  bought  it  from  your  father 
more  years  ago  than  we  should  care  to  talk  about. 
I  have  really  been  a  trespasser  all  this  time." 

They  took  their  places  at  a  small  round  table  in 
the  middle  of  the  dining-room.  The  shaded  lights 
thrown  downwards  upon  the  table  seemed  to  leave 
most  of  the  rest  of  the  apartment  in  semi-darkness. 
The  gloomy  faces  of  the  men  and  women  whose  pic- 
tures hung  upon  the  walls  were  almost  invisible.  The 
servants  themselves,  standing  a  little  outside  the  halo 
of  light,  were  like  shadows  passing  swiftly  and  noise- 
lessly back  and  forth.  At  the  far  end  of  the  room 
was  an  organ,  and  to  the  left  a  little  balcony,  built 
out  as  though  for  an  orchestra.  Hamel  looked  about 
him  almost  in  wonderment.  There  was  something 
curiously  impressive  in  the  size  of  the  apartment  and 
its  emptiness. 

"  A  trespasser,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued,  as  he  took 
up  the  menu  and  criticised  it  through  his  horn- 
rimmed eyeglass,  "  that  is  what  I  have  been,  without 
a  doubt." 

"  But  for  your  interest  and  consequent  trespass," 


n8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Hamcl  remarked,  "  I  should  probably  have  found  the 
roof  off  and  the  whole  place  in  ruins." 

"  Instead  of  which  you  found  the  door  locked 
against  you,"  Mr.  Fentolin  pointed  out.  "  Well,  we 
shall  see.  I  might,  at  any  rate,  have  lost  the  oppor- 
tunity of  entertaining  you  here  this  evening.  I  am 
particularly  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of  making 
you  known  to  my  niece  and  nephew.  I  think  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  here  are  two  young  people  who 
are  highly  to  be  commended.  I  cannot  offer  them  a 
cheerful  life  here.  There  is  little  society,  no  gaiety, 
no  sort  of  excitement.  Yet  they  never  leave  me. 
They  seem  to  have  no  other  interest  in  life  but  to  be 
always  at  my  beck  and  call.  A  case,  Mr.  Hamel, 
of  really  touching  devotion.  If  anything  could  recon- 
cile me  to  my  miserable  condition,  it  would  be  the  kind- 
ness and  consideration  of  those  by  whom  I  am  sur- 
rounded." 

Hamel  murmured  a  few  words  of  cordial  agree- 
ment. Yet  he  found  himself,  in  a  sense,  embarrassed. 
Gerald  was  looking  down  upon  his  plate  and  his  face 
was  hidden.  Esther's  features  had  suddenly  become 
stony  and  expressionless.  Hamel  felt  instinctively 
that  something  was  wrong. 

"  There  are  compensations,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued, with  the  air  of  one  enjoying  speech,  "  which 
find  their  way  into  even  the  gloomiest  of  lives.  As  I 
lie  on  my  back,  hour  after  hour,  I  feel  all  the  more 
conscious  of  this.  The  world  is  a  school  of  compensa- 
tions, Mr.  Hamel.  The  interests  —  the  mental  in- 
terests, I  mean  —  of  unfortunate  people  like  myself, 
come  to  possess  in  time  a  peculiar  significance  and  to 
yield  a  peculiar  pleasure.  I  have  hobbies,  Mr.  Hamel. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      119 

I  frankly  admit  it.  Without  my  hobbies,  I  shudder  to 
think  what  might  become  of  me.  I  might  become  a 
selfish,  cruel,  misanthropical  person.  Hobbies  are  in- 
deed a  great  thing." 

The  brother  and  sister  sat  still  in  stony  silence. 
Hamel,  looking  across  the  little  table  with  its  glitter- 
ing load  of  cut  glass  and  silver  and  scarlet  flowers, 
caught  something  in  Esther's  eyes,  so  rarely  expres- 
sive of  any  emotion  whatever,  which  puzzled  him.  He 
looked  swiftly  back  at  his  host.  Mr.  Fentolin's  face, 
at  that  moment,  was  like  a  beautiful  cameo.  His  ex- 
pression was  one  of  gentle  benevolence. 

"  Let  me  be  quite  frank  with  you,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
murmured.  "  My  occupation  of  the  Tower  is  one  of 
these  hobbies.  I  love  to  sit  there  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  sea  and  watch  the  tide  come  in.  I  catch  some- 
thing of  the  spirit,  I  think,  which  caught  your  father, 
Mr.  Hamel,  and  kept  him  a  prisoner  here.  In  my 
small  way  I,  too,  paint  while  I  am  down  there,  paint 
and  dream.  These  things  may  not  appeal  to  you,  but 
you  must  remember  that  there  are  few  things  left 
to  me  in  life,  and  that  those,  therefore,  which  I  can 
make  use  of,  are  dear  to  me.  Gerald,  you  are  silent 
to-night.  How  is  it  that  you  say  nothing?  " 

"  I  am  tired,  sir,"  the  boy  answered  quietly. 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  gravely. 

"  It  is  inexcusable  of  me,"  he  declared  smoothly,  "  to 
have  forgotten  even  for  a  moment.  My  nephew,  Mr. 
Hamel,"  he  went  on,  "  had  quite  an  exciting  expe- 
rience last  night  —  or  rather  a  series  of  experiences. 
He  w«js  first  of  all  in  a  railway  accident,  and  then, 
for  the  sake  of  a  poor  fellow  who  was  with  him  and 
who  was  badly  hurt,  he  motored  back  here  in  the 


120      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

grey  hours  of  the  morning  and  ran,  they  tell  me,  con* 
siderable  risk  of  being  drowned  on  the  marshes.  A 
very  wonderful  and  praiseworthy  adventure,  I  con- 
sider it.  I  trust  that  our  friend  up-stairs,  when  he 
recovers,  will  be  properly  grateful." 

Gerald  rose  to  his  feet  precipitately.  The  service 
of  dinner  was  almost  concluded,  and  he  muttered  some- 
thing which  sounded  like  an  excuse.  Mr.  Fentolin, 
however,  stretched  out  his  hand  and  motioned  him  to 
resume  his  seat. 

"  My  dear  Gerald !  "  he  exclaimed  reprovingly. 
"  You  would  leave  us  so  abruptly?  Before  your  sis- 
ter, too !  What  will  Mr.  Hamel  think  of  our  country 
ways?  Pray  resume  your  seat." 

For  a  moment  the  boy  stood  quite  still,  then  he 
slowly  subsided  into  his  chair.  Mr.  Fentolin  passed 
around  a  decanter  of  wine  which  had  been  placed  upon 
the  table  by  the  butler.  The  servants  had  now  left 
the  room. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  nephew,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Hamel,"  he  begged.  "  Gerald  has  a  boy's  curious 
aversion  to  praise  in  any  form.  I  am  looking  forward 
to  hearing  your  verdict  upon  my  port.  The  col- 
lection of  wine  and  pictures  was  a  hobby  of  my  grand- 
father's, for  which  we,  his  descendants,  can  never  be 
sufficiently  grateful." 

Hamel  praised  his  wine,  as  indeed  he  had  every 
reason  to,  but  for  a  few  moments  the  smooth  conversa- 
tion of  his  host  fell  upon  deaf  ears.  He  looked  from 
the  boy's  face,  pale  and  wrinkled  as  though  with  some 
sort  of  suppressed  pain,  to  the  girl's  still,  stony  ex- 
pression. This  was  indeed  a  house  of  mysteries! 
There  was  something  he're  incomprehensible,  some- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      121 

thing  about  the  relations  of  these  three  and  their 
knowledge  of  one  another,  utterly  baffling.  It  was 
the  queerest  household,  surely,  into  which  any 
stranger  had  ever  been  precipitated. 

"  The  planting  of  trees  and  the  laying  down  of 
port  are  two  virtues  in  our  ancestors  which  have 
never  been  properly  appreciated,"  Mr.  Fentolin  con- 
tinued. "  Let  us,  at  any  rate,  free  ourselves  from 
the  reproach  of  ingratitude  so  far  as  regards  my 
grandfather  —  Gerald  Fentolin  —  to  whom  I  believe 
we  are  indebted  for  this  wine.  We  will  drink  — " 

Mr.  Fentolin  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence. 
The  august  calm  of  the  great  house  had  been  sud- 
denly broken.  From  up-stairs  came  the  tumult  of 
raised  voices,  the  slamming  of  a  door,  the  falling  of 
something  heavy  upon  the  floor.  Mr.  Fentolin  lis- 
tened with  a  grim  change  in  his  expression.  His 
smile  had  departed,  his  lower  lip  was  thrust  out, 
his  eyebrows  met.  He  raised  the  little  whistle  which 
hung  from  his  chain,  At  that  moment,  however,  the 
door  was  opened.  Doctor  Sarson  appeared. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  said, 
"  but  our  patient  is  becoming  a  little  difficult.  The 
concussion  has  left  him,  as  I  feared  it  might,  in  a 
state  of  nervous  excitability.  He  insists  upon  an 
interview  with  you." 

Mr.  Fentolin  backed  his  little  chair  from  the  table. 
The  doctor  came  over  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
handle. 

"  You  will,  I  am  sure,  excuse  me  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, Mr.  Hamel,"  his  host  begged.  "  My  niece 
and  nephew  will  do  their  best  to  entertain  you.  Now, 
Sarson,  I  am  ready." 


122      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Mr.  Fentolin  glided  across  the  dim,  empty  spaces 
of  the  splendid  apartment,  followed  by  the  doctor; 
a  ghostly  little  procession  it  seemed.  The  door  was 
closed  behind  them.  For  a  few  moments  a  curious 
silence  ensued.  Gerald  remained  tense  and  appar- 
ently suffering  from  some  sort  of  suppressed  emo- 
tion. Esther  for  the  first  time  moved  in  her  place. 
She  leaned  towards  Hamel.  Her  lips  were  slowly 
parted,  her  eyes  sought  the  door  as  though  in  terror. 
Her  voice,  although  save  for  themselves  there  was 
no  one  else  in  the  whole  of  that  great  apartment,  had 
sunk  to  the  lowest  of  whispers. 

"  Are  you  a  brave  man,  Mr.  Hamel  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  was  staggered  but  he  answered  her  promptly. 

"  I  believe  so." 

"Don't  give  up  the  Tower  —  just  yet.  That  is 
what  —  he  has  brought  you  here  for.  He  wants  yob 
to  give  it  up  and  go  back.  Don't !  " 

The  earnestness  of  her  words  was  unmistakable. 
Hamel  felt  the  thrill  of  coming  events. 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  she  begged.  "  Only  if  you  are 
brave,  if  you  have  feeling  for  others,  keep  the  Tower, 
if  it  be  for  only  a  week.  Hush !  " 

The  door  had  been  noiselessly  opened.  The  doc- 
tor appeared  and  advanced  to  the  table  with  a 
grave  little  bow. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  has  been  kind  enough 
to  suggest  that  I  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  you. 
My  presence  is  not  needed  up-stairs.  Mr.  Hamel," 
he  added,  "  I  am  glad,  sir,  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance. I  have  for  a  long  time  been  a  great  admirer 
of  your  father's  work." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      123 

He  took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  and,  fill- 
ing his  glass,  bowed  towards  Hamel.  Once  more  Ger- 
ald and  his  sister  relapsed  almost  automatically  into 
an  indifferent  and  cultivated  silence.  Hamel  found 
civility  towards  the  newcomer  difficult.  Uncon- 
sciously his  attitude  became  that  of  the  other  two. 
He  resented  the  intrusion.  He  found  himself  re- 
garding the  advent  of  Doctor  Sarson  as  possess- 
ing some  secondary  significance.  It  was  almost  as 
though  Mr.  Fentolin  preferred  not  to  leave  him  alone 
with  his  niece  and  nephew. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Mr.  Fentolin,  on  leaving  the  dining-room,  steered 
his  chair  with  great  precision  through  the  open, 
wrought-iron  doors  of  a  small  lift  at  the  further  end 
of  the  hall,  which  Doctor  Sarson,  who  stepped  in 
with  him,  promptly  directed  to  the  second  floor. 
Here  they  made  their  way  to  the  room  in  which  Mr. 
Dunster  was  lying.  Doctor  Sarson  opened  the  door 
and  looked  in.  Almost  immediately  he  stood  at  one 
side,  out  of  sight  of  Mr.  Dunster,  and  nodded  to  Mr. 
Fentolin. 

"  If  there  is  any  trouble,"  he  whispered,  "  send 
for  me.  I  am  better  away,  for  the  present.  My 
presence  only  excites  him." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said.  "  Go  down  into  the 
dining-room.  I  am  not  sure  about  that  fellow  Hamel, 
and  Gerald  is  in  a  queer  temper.  Stay  with  them. 
See  that  they  are  not  alone." 

The  doctor  silently  withdrew,  and  Mr.  Fentolin 
promptly  glided  past  him  into  the  room.  Mr.  John 
P.  Dunster,  in  his  night  clothes,  was  sitting  on  the 
side  of  the  bed.  Standing  within  a  few  feet  of  him, 
watching  him  all  the  time  with  the  subtle  intentness 
of  a  cat  watching  a  mouse,  stood  Meekins.  Mr. 
Dunster's  head  was  still  bound,  although  the  bandage 
had  slipped  a  little,  apparently  in  some  struggle, 
His  face  was  chalklike,  and  he  was  breathing  quickly. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      125 

Nevertheless,  his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  was  clear  and 
firm. 

"  So  you've  come  at  last !  "  he  exclaimed,  a  little 
truculently.  "  Are  you  Mr.  Fentolin  ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  gravely  admitted  his  identity.  His 
eyes  rested  upon  his  guest  with  an  air  of  tender  in- 
terest. His  face  was  almost  beautiful. 

"  You  are  the  owner  of  this  house  —  I  am  under- 
neath your  roof  —  is  that  so?  " 

"  This  is  certainly  St.  David's  Hall,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
replied.  "  It  really  appears  as  though  your  con- 
clusions were  correct." 

"  Then  will  you  tell  me  why  I  am  kept  a  prisoner 
here?" 

Mr.  Fentolin's  expression  was  for  a  moment 
clouded.  He  seemed  hurt. 

"  A  prisoner,"  he  repeated  softly.  "  My  dear  Mr. 
Dunster,  you  have  surely  forgotten  the  circumstances 
which  procured  for  me  the  pleasure  of  this  visit ;  the 
condition  in  which  you  arrived  here  —  only,  after  all, 
a  very  few  hours  ago  ?  " 

"  The  circumstances,"  Mr.  Dunster  declared  drily, 
"  are  to  me  still  inexplicable.  At  Liverpool  Street 
Station  I  was  accosted  by  a  young  man  who  informed 
me  that  his  name  was  Gerald  Fentolin,  and  that  he 
was  on  his  way  to  The  Hague  to  play  in  a  golf  tour- 
nament. His  story  seemed  entirely  probable,  and  I 
permitted  him  a  seat  in  the  special  train  I  had  char- 
tered for  Harwich.  There  was  an  accident  and  I  re- 
ceived this  blow  to  my  head  —  only  a  trifling  affair, 
after  all.  I  come  to  my  senses  to  find  myself  here.  I 
do  not  know  exactly  what  part  of  the  world  you 
call  this,  but  from  the  fact  that  I  can  see  the  sea  from 


126      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

my  window,  it  must  be  some  considerable  distance 
from  the  scene  of  the  accident.  I  find  that  my  dress- 
ing-case has  been  opened,  my  pocket-book  examined, 
and  I  am  apparently  a  prisoner.  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin,  for  an  explanation." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  reassuringly. 
"  My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  Mr.  Dunster, 
I  believe  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  calling  you  — 
your  conclusions  seem  to  me  just  a  little  melodramatic. 
My  nephew  —  Gerald  Fentolin  —  did  what  I  con- 
sider the  natural  thing,  under  the  circumstances. 
You  had  been  courteous  to  him,  and  he  repaid  the 
obligation  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  The  accident 
to  your  train  happened  in  a  dreary  part  of  the  coun- 
try, some  thirty  miles  from  here.  My  nephew 
adopted  a  course  which  I  think,  under  the  circum- 
stances, was  the  natural  and  hospitable  one.  He 
brought  you  to  his  home.  There  was  no  hospital  or 
town  of  any  importance  nearer." 

"  Very  well,"  Mr.  Dunster  decided.  "  I  will  ac- 
cept your  version  of  the  affair.  I  will,  then,  up  to 
this  point  acknowledge  myself  your  debtor.  But 
will  you  tell  me  why  my  dressing-case  has  been  opened, 
my  clothes  removed,  and  a  pocket-book  containing 
papers  of  great  importance  to  me  has  been  tampered 
with?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Dunster,"  his  host  replied  calmly, 
"  you  surely  cannot  imagine  that  you  are  among 
thieves!  Your  dressing-case  was  opened  and  the 
contents  of  your  pocket-book  inspected  with  a 
view  to  ascertaining  your  address,  or  the  names 
of  some  friends  with  whom  we  might  communi- 
cate." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      127 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  they  are  to  be  restored 
to  me,  then  ?  "  Mr.  Dunster  demanded. 

"  Without  a  doubt,  yes ! "  Mr.  Fentolin  assured 
him.  "  You,  however,  are  not  fit  for  anything,  at 
the  present  moment,  but  to  return  to  your  bed,  from 
which  I  understand  you  rose  rather  suddenly  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  Mr.  Dunster  insisted,  "  I  am 
feeling  absolutely  well  enough  to  travel.  I  have  an 
appointment  on  the  Continent  of  great  importance,  as 
you  may  judge  by  the  fact  that  at  Liverpool  Street  I 
chartered  a  special  train.  I  trust  that  nothing  in  my 
manner  may  have  given  you  offence,  but  I  am  anx- 
ious to  get  through  with  the  business  which  brought 
me  over  to  this  side  of  the  water.  I  have  sent  for  you 
to  ask  that  my  pocket-book,  dressing-case,  and  clothes 
be  at  once  restored  to  me,  and  that  I  be  provided  with 
the  means  of  continuing  my  journey  without  a  mo- 
ment's further  delay." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  very  gently,  very  re- 
gretfully, but  also  firmly. 

"  Mr.  Dunster,"  he  pleaded,  "  do  be  reasonable. 
Think  of  all  you  have  been  through.  I  can  quite 
sympathise  with  you  in  your  impatience,  but  I  am 
forced  to  tell  you  that  the  doctor  who  has  been  at- 
tending you  since  the  moment  you  were  brought  into 
this  house  has  absolutely  forbidden  anything  of  the 
sort." 

Mr.  Dunster  seemed,  for  a  moment,  to  struggle  for 
composure. 

"  I  am  an  American  citizen,"  he  declared.  "  I  am 
willing  to  listen  to  the  advice  of  any  physician,  but 
so  long  as  I  take  the  risk,  I  am  not  bound  to  follow  it. 


128      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

In  the  present  case  I  decline  to  follow  it.  I  ask  for 
facilities  to  leave  this  house  at  once." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  In  your  own  interests,"  he  said  calmly,  "  they 
will  not  be  granted  to  you." 

Mr.  Dunster  had  spoken  all  the  time  like  a  man 
struggling  to  preserve  his  self-control.  There  were 
signs  now  that  his  will  was  ceasing  to  serve  him.  His 
eyes  flashed  fire,  his  voice  was  raised. 

"  Will  not  be  granted  to  me?  "  he  repeated.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say,  then,  that  I  am  to  be  kept  here 
against  my  will?" 

Mr.  Fentolin  made  no  immediate  reply.  With  the 
delicate  fingers  of  his  right  hand  he  pushed  back  the 
hair  from  his  forehead.  He  looked  at  his  questioner 
soothingly,  as  one  might  look  at  a  spoiled  child. 

"  Against  my  will?  "  Mr.  Dunster  repeated,  raising 
his  voice  still  higher.  "  Mr.  Fentolin,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  I  have  heard  of  you  before  and  been 
warned  against  you.  I  decline  to  accept  any  longer 
the  hospitality  of  your  roof.  I  insist  upon  leaving  it. 
If  you  will  not  provide  me  with  any  means  of  doing 
so,  I  will  walk." 

He  made  a  motion  as  though  to  rise  from  the  bed. 
Meekins'  hand  very  gently  closed  upon  his  arm.  One 
could  judge  that  the  grip  was  like  a  grip  of  iron. 

"  Dear  me,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said,  "  this  is  really  very 
unreasonable  of  you !  If  you  have  heard  of  me,  Mr. 
Dunster,  you  ought  fco  understand  that  notwithstand- 
ing my  unfortunate  physical  trouble,  I  am  a  person  of 
consequence  and  position  in  this  county.  I  am  a 
magistrate,  ex-high  sheriff,  and  a  great  land-owner 
here.  I  think  I  may  say  without  boasting  that  I 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      129 

represent  one  of  the  most  ancient  families  in  this 
country.  Why,  therefore,  should  you  treat  me  as 
though  it  were  to  my  interest  to  inveigle  you  under 
my  roof  and  keep  you  there  for  some  guilty  purpose? 
Cannot  you  understand  that  it  is  for  your  own  good 
I  hesitate  to  part  with  you?  " 

"  I  understand  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Mr.  Dunster 
exclaimed  angrily.  "  Let  us  bring  this  nonsense  to 
an  end.  I  want  my  clothes,  and  if  you  won't  lend 
me  a  car  or  a  trap,  I'll  walk  to  the  nearest  railway 
station." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  not  in  a 
position  to  travel.  Even  in  the  dining-room  just  now 
I  heard  a  disturbance  for  which  I  was  told  that  you 
were  responsible." 

"  I  simply  insisted  upon  having  my  clothes,"  Mr. 
Dunster  explained.  "  Your  servant  refused  to  fetch 
them.  Perhaps  I  lost  my  temper.  If  so,  I  am  sorry. 
I  am  not  used  to  being  thwarted." 

"  A  few  days'  rest  — "  Mr.  Fentolin  began. 

"  A  few  days'  rest  be  hanged !  "  Mr.  Dunster  in- 
terrupted fiercely.  "  Listen,  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  added, 
with  the  air  of  one  making  a  last  effort  to  preserve 
his  temper,  "  the  mission  with  which  I  am  charged  is 
one  of  greater  importance  than  you  can  imagine. 
So  much  depends  upon  it  that  my  own  life,  if  that  is 
in  danger,  would  be  a  mere  trifle  in  comparison  with 
the  issues  involved.  If  I  am  not  allowed  to  continue 
upon  my  journey  at  once,  the  consequences  may 
be  more  serious  than  I  can  tell  you,  to  you  and  yours, 
to  your  own  country.  There !  —  I  am  telling  you  a 
great  deal,  but  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  am. 


i3o      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

in  earnest.  I  have  a  mission  which  I  must  perform, 
and  which  I  must  perform  quickly." 

"  You  are  very  mysterious,"  Mr.  Fentolin  mur- 
mured. 

"  I  will  leave  nothing  to  chance,"  Mr.  Dunster  con- 
tinued. "  Send  this  man  who  seems  to  have  consti- 
tuted himself  my  jailer  out  of  earshot,  and  I  will  tell 
you  even  more." 

Mr.  Fentolin  turned  to  Meekins. 

"  You  can  leave  the  room  for  a  moment,"  he 
ordered.  "  Wait  upon  the  threshold." 

Meekins  very  unwillingly  turned  to  obey. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  sir,"  he  objected  doubtfully, 
"  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  he  is  safe." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  faintly. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear,  Meekins,"  he  declared. 
"  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  are  mistaken.  I  think 
that  Mr.  Dunster  is  incapable  of  any  act  of  violence 
towards  a  person  in  my  unfortunate  position.  I  am 
willing  to  trust  myself  with  him  —  perfectly  willing, 
Meekins." 

Meekins,  with  ponderous  footsteps,  left  the  room 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  Mr.  Fentolin  leaned 
a  little  forward  in  his  chair.  It  seemed  as  though  he 
were  on  springs.  The  fingers  of  his  right  hand  had 
disappeared  in  the  pocket  of  his  black  velvet  dinner- 
coat.  He  was  certainly  prepared  for  all  emergencies. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Dunster,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  can 
speak  to  me  without  reserve." 

Mr.  Dunster  dropped  his  voice.  His  tone  became 
one  of  fierce  eagerness. 

"  Look  here,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  don't  think  you 
ought  to  force  me  to  give  myself  away  like  this,  but, 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      131 

after  all,  you  are  an  Englishman,  with  a  stake  in  your 
country,  and  I  presume  you  don't  want  her  to  take  a 
back  seat  for  the  next  few  generations.  Listen  here. 
It's  to  save  your  country  that  I  want  to  get  to  The 
Hague  without  a  second's  delay.  I  tell  you  that  if  I 
don't  get  there,  if  the  message  I  convey  doesn't  reach 
its  destination,  you  may  find  an  agreement  signed 
between  certain  Powers  which  will  mean  the  greatest 
diplomatic  humiliation  which  Great  Britain  has  ever 
known.  Aye,  and  more  than  that !  "  Mr.  Dunster 
continued.  "  It  may  be  that  the  bogey  you've  been 
setting  before  yourself  for  all  these  years  may  trot 
out  into  life,  and  you  may  find  St.  David's  Hall  a 
barrack  for  German  soldiers  before  many  months  have 
passed." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  in  gentle  disbelief. 

"  You  are  speaking  to  one,"  he  declared,  "  who 
knows  more  of  the  political  situation  than  you  im- 
agine. In  my  younger  days  I  was  in  the  Foreign 
Office.  Since  my  unfortunate  accident  I  have  pre- 
served the  keenest  interest  in  politics.  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  do  not  believe  you.  As  the  Powers 
are  grouped  at  present,  I  do  not  believe  in  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  successful  invasion  of  this  country." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Mr.  Dunster  replied  eagerly,  "  but 
the  grouping  of  the  Powers  as  it  has  existed  during 
the  last  few  years  is  on  the  eye  of  a  great  change. 
I  cannot  take  you  wholly  into  my  confidence.  I  can 
only  give  you  my  word  of  honour  as  a  friend  to  your 
country  that  the  message  I  carry  is  her  only  salva- 
tion. Having  told  you  as  much  as  that,  I  do  not 
think  I  am  asking  too  much  if  I  ask  you  for  my  clothes 
and  dressing-case,  and  for  the  fastest  motor-car  you 


i32      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

can  furnish  me  with.  I  guess  I  can  get  from  here  to 
Yarmouth,  and  from  there  I  can  charter  something 
which  will  take  me  to  the  other  side." 

Mr.  Fentolin  raised  the  little  gold  whistle  to  his 
lips  and  blew  it  very  softly.  Meekins  at  once  entered, 
closing1  the  door  behind  him.  He  moved  silently  to 
the  side  of  the  man  who  had  risen  now  from  the  bed, 
and  who  was  standing  with  his  hand  grasping  the 
post  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Mr.  Fentolin,  as  though 
awaiting  his  answer. 

"  Our  conversation,"  the  latter  said  calmly,  "  has 
reached  a  point,  Mr.  Dunster,  at  which  I  think  we 
may  leave  it  for  the  moment.  You  have  told  me  some 
very  surprising  things.  I  perceive  that  you  are  a 
more  interesting  visitor  even  than  I  had  thought." 

He  raised  his  left  hand,  and  Meekins,  who  seemed 
to  have  been  waiting  for  some  signal  of  the  sort,  sud- 
denly, with  a  movement  of  his  knee  and  right  arm, 
flung  Dunster  back  upon  the  bed.  The  man  opened 
his  mouth  to  shout,  but  already,  with  lightning-like 
dexterity,  his  assailant  had  inserted  a  gag  between  his 
teeth.  Treating  his  struggles  as  the  struggles  of  a 
baby,  Meekins  next  proceeded  to  secure  his  wrists  with 
handcuffs.  He  then  held  his  feet  together  while  he 
quietly  wound  a  coil  of  cord  around  them.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin watched  the  proceedings  from  his  chair  with  an 
air  of  pleased  and  critical  interest. 

"  Very  well  done,  Meekins  —  very  neatly  done,  in- 
deed !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  As  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Dun- 
ster," he  continued,  turning  his  chair,  "  our  conversa- 
tion has  reached  a  point  at  which  I  think  we  may 
safely  leave  it  for  a  time.  We  will  discuss  these 
matters  again.  Your  pretext  of  a  political  mission 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      133 

is,  of  course,  an  absurd  one,  but  fortunately  you  have 
fallen  into  good  hands.  Take  good  care  of  Mr.  Dun- 
ster,  Meekins.  I  can  see  that  he  is  a  very  important 
personage.  .We  must  be  careful  not  to  lose  sight  of 
him." 

Mr.  Fentolin  steered  his  chair  to  the  door,  opened 
it,  and  passed  out.  On  the  landing  he  blew  his  whistle ; 
the  lift  almost  immediately  ascended.  A  moment  or 
two  later  he  glided  into  the  dining-room.  The  three 
men  were  still  seated  around  the  table.  A  decanter 
of  wine,  almost  empty,  was  before  Doctor  Sarson, 
whose  pallid  cheeks,  however,  were  as  yet  unflushed. 

"  At  last,  my  dear  guest,"  Mr.  Fentolin  exclaimed, 
turning  to  Hamel,  "  I  am  able  to  return  to  you.  If 
you  will  drink  no  more  wine,  let  us  have  our  coffee 
in  the  library,  you  and  I.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
the  Tower." 


CHAPTER  XV 

Mr.  Fentolin  led  the  way  to  a  delightful  little  corner 
of  his  library,  where  before  the  open  grate,  recently 
piled  with  hissing  logs,  an  easy  chair  had  been  drawn. 
He  wheeled  himself  up  to  the  other  side  of  the  hearth- 
rug and  leaned  back  with  a  little  air  of  exhaustion. 
The  butler,  who  seemed  to  have  appeared  unsummoned 
from  somewhere  among  the  shadows,  served  coffee  and 
poured  some  old  brandy  into  large  and  wonderfully 
thin  glasses. 

"  Why  my  house  should  be  turned  into  an  asylum 
to  gratify  the  hospitable  instincts  of  my  young 
nephew,  I  cannot  imagine,"  Mr.  Fentolin  grumbled. 
"  A  most  extraordinary  person,  our  visitor,  I  can  as- 
sure you.  Quite  violent,  too,  he  was  at  first." 

"  Have  you  had  any  outside  advice  about  his  con- 
dition ?  "  Hamel  inquired. 

Mr.  Fentolin  glanced  across  those  few  feet  of  space 
and  looked  at  Hamel  with  swift  suspicion. 

"  Why  should  I?  "  he  asked.  "  Doctor  Sarson  is 
fully  qualified,  and  the  case  seems  to  present  no  un- 
usual characteristics." 

Hamel  sipped  his  brandy  thoughtfully. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  suggested  it,"  he  admitted. 
"  I  only  thought  that  an  outside  doctor  might  help 
you  to  get  rid  of  the  fellow." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  the  matter  is  of  no  real  con- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      135 

sequence.  Doctor  Sarson  assures  me  that  we  shall 
be  able  to  send  him  on  his  way  very  shortly.  In  the 
meantime,  Mr.  Hamel,  what  about  the  Tower?  " 

"What  about  it?"  Hamel  asked,  selecting  a  ci- 
gar from  the  box  which  had  been  pushed  to  his  side. 
"  I  am  sure  I  haven't  any  wish  to  inconvenience 
you." 

"  I  will  be  quite  frank,"  Mr.  Fentolin  declared. 
"  I  do  not  dispute  your  right  for  a  moment.  On  the 
other  hand,  my  few  hours  daily  down  there  have  be- 
come a  habit  with  me.  I  do  not  wish  to  give  them 
up.  Stay  here  with  us,  Mr.  Hamel.  You  will  be 
doing  us  a  great  kindness.  My  nephew  and  niece 
have  too  little  congenial  society.  Make  up  your  mind 
to  give  us  a  fortnight  of  your  time,  and  I  can  assure 
you  that  we  will  do  our  best  to  make  yours  a  pleasant 
stay." 

Hamel  was  a  little  taken  aback. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  think  of  ac- 
cepting your  hospitality  to  such  an  extent.  My  idea 
in  coming  here  was  simply  to  fulfil  an  old  promise  to 
my  father  and  to  rough  it  at  the  Tower  for  a  week 
or  so,  and  when  that  was  over,  I  don't  suppose  I 
should  ever  be  likely  to  come  back  again.  You  had 
better  let  me  carry  out  that  plan,  and  afterwards  the 
place  shall  be  entirely  at  your  disposal." 

"  You  don't  quite  understand,"  Mr.  Fentolin  per- 
sisted, a  little  irritably.  "  I  sit  there  every  morning. 
I  want,  for  instance,  to  be  there  to-morrow  morning, 
and  the  next  morning,  and  the  morning  afterwards, 
to  finish  a  little  seascape  I  have  commenced.  Nowhere 
else  will  do.  Call  it  a  whim  or  what  you  will.  I 
have  begun  the  picture,  and  I  want  to  finish  it." 


i36      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Well,  you  can  sit  there  all  right,"  Hamel  as- 
sured him.  "  I  shall  be  out  playing  golf  or  fishing. 
I  shall  do  nothing  but  sleep  there." 

"  And  very  uncomfortable  you  will  be,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  pointed  out.  "  You  have  no  servant,  I  under- 
stand, and  there  is  no  one  in  the  village  fit  to  look 
after  you.  Think  of  my  thirty-nine  empty  rooms, 
my  books  here,  my  gardens,  my  motor-cars,  my  young 
people,  entirely  at  your  service.  You  can  have  a 
suite  to  yourself.  You  can  disappear  when  you  like. 
To  all  effects  and  purposes  you  will  be  the  master  of 
St.  David's  Hall.  Be  reasonable.  Don't  you  think, 
now,  that  you  can  spend  a  fortnight  more  pleasantly 
under  such  circumstances  than  by  playing  the  misan- 
thrope down  at  the  Tower  ?  " 

"Please  don't  think,"  Hamel  begged,  "that  I 
don't  appreciate  your  hospitality.  I  should  feel  un- 
comfortable, however,  if  I  paid  you  a  visit  of  the 
length  you  have  suggested.  Come,  I  don't  see,"  he 
added,  "  why  my  occupation  of  the  Tower  should  in- 
terfere with  you.  I  should  be  away  from  it  by  about 
nine  or  ten  o'clock  every  morning.  I  should  prob- 
ably only  sleep  there.  Can't  you  accept  the  use  of 
it  all  the  rest  of  the  time?  I  can  assure  you  that 
you  will  be  welcome  to  come  and  go  as  though  it 
were  entirely  your  own." 

Mr.  Fentolin  had  lit  a  cigarette  and  was  watching 
the  blue  smoke  curl  upwards  to  the  ceiling. 

"  You're  an  obstinate  man,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  sighed, 
"  but  I  suppose  you  must  have  your  own  way.  By- 
the-by,  you  would  only  need  to  use  the  up-stairs 
room  and  the  sitting-room.  You  will  not  need  the 
outhouse  —  rather  more  than  an  outhouse,  though, 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      137 

isn't  it?  I  mean  the  shed  which  leads  out  from  the 
kitchen,  where  the  lifeboat  used  to  be  kept?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  need  that,"  Hamel  admitted, 
a  little  hesitatingly. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued, 
"  among  my  other  hobbies  I  have  done  a  little  invent- 
ing. I  work  sometimes  at  a  model  there.  It  is  fool- 
ish, perhaps,  but  I  wish  no  one  to  see  it.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  keep  the  keys  of  the  place?  " 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Hamel  replied.  "Tell  me, 
v.-hat  direction  do  your  inventions  take,  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin? " 

"  Before  you  go,"  Mr.  Fentolin  promised,  "  I  will 
show  you  my  little  model  at  work.  Until  then  we  will 
not  talk  of  it.  Now  come,  be  frank  with  me.  Shall  we 
exchange  ideas  for  a  little  time?  Will  you  talk  of 
books?  They  are  my  daily  friends.  I  have  thou- 
sands of  them,  beloved  companions  on  every  side. 
Or  will  you  talk  of  politics  or  travel?  Or  would  you 
rather  be  frivolous  with  my  niece  and  nephew  ?  That, 
I  think,  is  Esther  playing." 

"  To  be  quite  frank,"  Hamel  declared  bluntly,  "  I 
should  like  to  talk  to  your  niece." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  as  though  amused.  His 
amusement,  however,  was  perfectly  good-natured. 

"  If  you  will  open  this  door,"  he  said,  "  you  will 
see  another  one  exactly  opposite  to  you.  That  is  the 
drawing-room.  You  will  find  Esther  there.  Before 
you  go,  will  you  pass  me  the  Quarterly  Review? 
Thank  you." 

Hamel  crossed  the  hall,  opened  the  door  of  the 
room  to  which  he  had  been  directed,  and  made  his 
way  towards  the  piano.  Esther  was  there,  playing 


i38      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

softly  to  herself  with  eyes  half  closed.  He  came  and 
stood  by  her  side,  and  she  stopped  abruptly.  Her 
eyes  questioned  him.  Then  her  fingers  stole  once 
more  over  the  keys,  more  softly  still. 

"  I  have  just  left  your  uncle,"  Hamel  said.  "  He 
told  me  that  I  might  come  in  here." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  murmured. 

"  He  was  very  hospitable,"  Hamel  continued. 
"  He  wanted  me  to  remain  here  as  a  guest  and  not 
go  to  the  Tower  at  all." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Tower,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
going  there  to-morrow  or  the  day  after." 

The  music  swelled  beneath  her  fingers. 

"For  how  long?" 

"  For  a  week  or  so.  I  am  just  giving  your  uncle 
time  to  clear  out  his  belongings.  I  am  leaving  him 
the  outhouse." 

"  He  asked  you  to  leave  him  that  ?  "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  Yes ! " 

"  You  are  not  going  in  there  at  all?  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

Again  she  played  a  little  more  loudly  for  a  fevr 
moments.  Then  the  music  died  away  once  more. 

"  What  reason  did  he  give  for  keeping  possession 
of  that?" 

"  Another  hobby,"  Hamel  replied.  "  He  is  an  in- 
ventor, it  seems.  He  has  the  model  of  something 
there;  he  would  not  tell  me  what." 

She  shivered  a  little,  and  her  music  drifted  away. 
She  bent  over  the  keys,  her  face  hidden  from  him. 

"  You  will  not  go  away  just  yet?  "  she  asked  softly. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      139 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  for  a  few  days,  at  any  rate?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  he  assured  her.  "  I  am  al- 
together my  own  master." 

"  Thank  God,"  she  murmured. 

He  leaned  with  his  elbow  against  the  top  of  the 
piano,  looking  down  at  her.  Since  dinnertime  she 
had  fastened  a  large  red  rose  in  the  front  of  her 
gown. 

"  Do  you  know  that  this  is  all  rather  mysterious?  " 
he  said  calmly. 

"  What  is  mysterious?  "  she  demanded. 

"  The  atmosphere  of  the  place :  your  uncle's  queer 
aversion  to  my  having  the  Tower ;  your  visitor  up- 
stairs, who  fights  with  the  servants  while  we  are  at 
dinner;  your  uncle  himself,  whose  will  seems  to  be 
law  not  only  to  you  but  to  your  brother,  who  must  be 
of  age,  I  should  think,  and  who  seems  to  have  plenty 
of  spirit." 

"  We  live  here,  both  of  us,"  she  told  him.  "  He 
is  our  guardian." 

"  Naturally,"  Hamel  replied,  "  and  yet,  it  may 
have  been  my  fancy,  of  course,  but  at  dinnertime  I 
seemed  to  get  a  queer  impression." 

"  Tell  it  me  ?  "  she  insisted,  her  fingers  breaking 
suddenly  into  a  livelier  melody.  "  Tell  it  me  at  once  ? 
You  were  there  all  the  time.  I  could  see  you  watch- 
ing. Tell  me  what  you  thought?" 

She  had  turned  her  head  now,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  his.  They  were  large  and  soft,  capable, 
he  knew,  of  infinite  expression.  Yet  at  that  moment 
the  light  that  shone  from  them  was  simply  one  of 
fear,  half  curious,  half  shrinking. 

"  My  impression,"  he  said,  "  was  that  both  of  you 


i4o      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

disliked  and  feared  Mr.  Fentolin,  yet  for  some  reason 
or  other  that  you  were  his  abject  slaves." 

Her  fingers  seemed  suddenly  inspired  with  diabolical 
strength  and  energy.  Strange  chords  crashed  and 
broke  beneath  them.  She  played  some  unfamiliar 
music  with  tense  and  fierce  energy.  Suddenly  she 
paused  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Come  out  on  to  the  terrace,"  she  invited.  "  You 
are  not  afraid  of  cold  ?  " 

He  followed  her  without  a  word.  She  opened  the 
French  windows,  and  they  stepped  out  on  to  the  long, 
broad  stone  promenade.  The  night  was  dark,  and 
there  was  little  to  be  seen.  The  light  was  burning 
at  the  entrance  to  the  waterway;  a  few  lights  were 
twinkling  from  the  village.  The  soft  moaning  of  the 
sea  was  distinctly  audible.  She  moved  to  the  edge  of 
the  palisading.  He  followed  her  closely. 

"  You  are  right,  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said.  "  I  think 
that  I  am  more  afraid  of  him  than  any  woman  ever 
was  of  any  man  in  this  world." 

"Then  why  do  you  live  here?"  he  protested. 
"  You  must  have  other  relations  to  whom  you  could 
go.  And  your  brother  —  why  doesn't  he  do  some- 
thing —  go  into  one  of  the  professions  ?  He  could 
surely  leave  easily  enough?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,"  she  answered  calmly. 
"  Perhaps  it  will  help  you  to  understand.  You  know 
my  uncle's  condition.  You  know  that  it  was  the  re- 
sult of  an  accident  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  so,"  he  replied  gravely. 

She  clutched  at  his  arm. 

"  Come,"  she  said. 

Side  by  side  they  walked  the  entire  length  of  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      141 

terrace.  When  they  reached  the  corner,  they  were 
met  with  a  fierce  gust  of  wind.  She  battled  along, 
and  he  followed  her.  They  were  looking  inland  now. 
There  were  no  lights  visible  —  nothing  but  dark, 
chaotic  emptiness.  From  somewhere  below  him  he 
could  hear  the  wind  in  the  tree-tops. 

"  This  way,"  she  directed.     "  Be  careful." 

They  walked  to  the  very  edge  of  the  palisading. 
It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  couple  of  feet  high.  She 
pointed  downwards. 

"  Can  you  see?  "  she  whispered. 

By  degrees  his  eyes  faintly  penetrated  the  dark- 
ness. It  was  as  though  they  were  looking  down  a 
precipice.  The  descent  was  perfectly  sheer  for  nearly 
a  hundred  feet.  At  the  bottom  were  the  pine 
trees. 

"  Come  here  again  in  the  morning,"  she  whispered. 
""  You  will  see  then.  I  brought  you  here  to  show  you 
the  place.  It  was  here  that  the  accident  happened." 

"What  accident?" 

"  Mr.  Fentolin's,"  she  continued.  "  It  was  here 
that  he  went  over.  He  was  picked  up  with  both  his 
legs  broken.  They  never  thought  that  he  would  live." 

Hamel  shivered  a  little.  As  his  eyes  grew  accus- 
tomed to  the  darkness,  he  saw  more  distinctly  than 
ever  the  sheer  fall,  the  tops  of  the  bending  trees 
below. 

"  What  a  horrible  thing !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  was  more  horrible  than  you  know,"  she  con- 
tinued, dropping  her  voice  a  little,  almost  whispering 
in  his  ear.  "  I  do  not  know  why  I  tell  you  this  — 
you,  a  stranger  —  but  if  I  do  not  tell  some  one,  I 
think  that  the  memory  of  it  will  drive  me  mad.  It  was 


i42      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

no  accident  at  all.     Mr.  Fentolin  was  thrown  over !  " 

"  By  whom?  "  he  asked. 

She  clung  to  his  arm  for  a  moment. 

"  Ah,  don't  ask  me ! "  she  begged.  "  No  one 
knows.  My  uncle  gave  out,  as  soon  as  he  was  con- 
scious, that  it  was  an  accident." 

"  That,  at  any  rate,  was  fine  of  him,"  Hamel  de- 
clared. 

She  shivered. 

"  He  was  proud,  at  least,  of  our  family  name. 
Whatever  credit  he  deserves  for  it,  he  must  have. 
It  was  owing  to  that  accident  that  we  became  his 
slaves :  nothing  but  that  —  his  absolute  slaves,  to  wait 
upon  him,  if  he  would,  hand  and  foot.  You  see,  he 
has  never  been  able  to  marry.  His  life  was,  of  course, 
ruined.  So  the  burden  came  to  us.  We  took  it  up, 
little  thinking  what  was  in  store  for  us.  Five  years 
ago  we  came  here  to  live.  Gerald  wanted  to  go  into 
the  army ;  I  wanted  to  travel  with  my  mother.  Ger- 
ald has  done  all  the  work  secretly,  but  he  has  never 
been  allowed  to  pass  his  examinations.  I  have  never 
left  England  except  to  spend  two  years  at  the  strictest 
boarding-school  in  Paris,  to  which  I  was  taken  and 
fetched  away  by  one  of  his  creatures.  We  live  here, 
with  the  shadow  of  this  thing  always  with  us.  We 
are  his  puppets.  If  we  hesitate  to  do  his  bidding,  he 
reminds  us.  So  far,  we  have  been  his  creatures,  body 
and  soul.  Whether  it  will  go  on,  I  cannot  say  —  oh, 
I  cannot  say !  It  is  bad  for  us,  but  —  there  is  mother, 
too.  He  makes  her  life  a  perfect  hell !  " 

A  roar  of  wind  came  booming  once  more  across 
the  marshes,  bending  the  trees  which  grew  so  thickly 
beneath  them  and  which  ascended  precipitately  to 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      143 

the  back  of  the  house.  The  French  windows  behind 
rattled.  She  looked  around  nervously. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  him  all  the  time,"  she  murmured. 
"  He  seems  to  overhear  everything  —  he  or  his  crea- 
tures. Listen !  " 

They  were  silent  for  several  moments.  He  whis- 
pered in  her  ear  so  closely  that  through  the  darkness 
he  could  see  the  fire  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  telling  me  half,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me 
everything.  Who  threw  your  uncle  over  the  para- 
pet? " 

She  stood  by  his  side,  motionless  and  trembling. 

"  It  was  the  passion  of  a  moment,"  she  said  at 
last,  speaking  hoarsely.  "  I  cannot  tell  you.  Lis- 
ten !  Listen !  " 

"  There  is  no  one  near,"  Hamel  assured  her.  "  It 
is  the  wind  which  shakes  the  windows.  I  wish  that 
you  would  tell  me  everything.  I  would  like  to  be 
your  friend.  Believe  me,  I  have  that  desire,  really. 
There  are  so  many  things  which  I  do  not  under- 
stand. That  it  is  dull  here  for  you,  of  course,  is 
natural,  but  there  is  something  more  than  that. 
You  seem  always  to  fear  something.  Your  uncle  is 
a  selfish  man,  naturally,  although  to  look  at  him  he 
seems  to  have  the  disposition  of  an  angel.  But  be- 
yond that,  is  there  anything  of  which  you  are  afraid? 
You  seem  all  the  time  to  live  in  fear." 

She  suddenly  clutched  his  hand.  There  was  noth- 
ing of  affection  in  her  touch,  and  yet  he  felt  a  thrill 
of  delight. 

"  There  are  strange  things  which  happen  here," 
she  whispered,  "  things  which  neither  Gerald  nor  I 
understand.  Yet  they  terrify  us.  I  think  that  very 


144      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

soon  the  end  will  come.  Neither  of  us  can  stand 
it  very  much  longer.  We  have  no  friends.  Some- 
how or  other,  he  seems  to  manage  to  keep  us  always 
isolated." 

"  I  shall  not  go  away  from  here,"  Hamel  said 
firmly,  "  at  present.  Mind,  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that, 
living  this  solitary  life  as  you  do,  you  have  not  be- 
come a  little  over-nervous ;  that  you  have  not  ex- 
aggerated the  fear  of  some  things.  To  me  your 
uncle  seems  merely  quixotic  and  egregiously  selfish. 
However  that  may  be,  I  am  going  to  remain." 

She  clutched  once  more  at  his  arm,  her  finger  was 
upraised.  They  listened  together.  From  some- 
where behind  them  came  the  clear,  low  wailing  of  a 
violin. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Fentolin,"  she  whispered.  "  Please 
come  in;  let  us  go  in  at  once.  He  only  plays  when 
he  is  excited.  I  am  afraid!  Oh,  I  am  afraid  that 
something  is  going  to  happen !  " 

She  was  already  round  the  corner  and  on  her  way 
to  the  main  terrace.  He  followed  her  closely. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"  Let  us  follow  the  example  of  all  great  golfers," 
Hamel  said.  "  Let  us  for  this  morning,  at  any  rate, 
imagine  that  your  whole  world  is  encompassed  within 
these  eighteen  holes.  We  have  been  sent  here  in  a 
moment  of  good  humour  by  your  tyrant  uncle.  The 
sun  shines,  and  the  wind  is  from  the  west.  Why 
not?" 

"  That  is  all  very  well  for  you,"  she  retorted, 
smiling,  "  but  I  have  topped  my  drive." 

"  Purely  an  incident,"  he  assured  her.  "  The  vicis- 
situdes of  the  game  do  not  enter  into  the  question. 
I  have  driven  a  ball  far  above  my  usual  form,  but 
I  am  not  gloating  over  it.  I  prefer  to  remember 
only  that  I  am  going  to  spend  the  next  two  hours 
with  you." 

She  played  her  shot,  and  they  walked  for  a  little 
way  together.  She  was  suddenly  silent. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  finally,  just  a  little 
gravely,  "  I  am  not  at  all  used  to  speeches  of  this 
sort." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be,"  he  declared.  "  Noth- 
ing but  the  lonely  life  you  have  been  living  has  kept 
you  from  hearing  them  continually." 

She  laughed  a  little  at  the  impotence  of  her  rebuff 
and  paused  for  a  moment  to  make  her  next  shot. 
Hamel,  standing  a  little  on  one  side,  watched  her  ap- 
praisingly.  Her  short,  grey  tweed  skirt  was  obvi- 


i46      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

ously  the  handiwork  of  an  accomplished  tailor.  Her 
grey  stockings  and  suede  shoes  were  immaculate  and 
showed  a  care  for  her  appearance  which  pleased  him. 
Her  swing,  too,  revealed  a  grace,  the  grace  of  long 
arms  and  a  supple  body,  at  which  previously  he  had 
only  guessed.  The  sunshine  seemed  to  have  brought 
out  a  copper  tinge  from  her  abundant  brown  hair. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  remarked,  "  I  think  I  am  be- 
ginning to  like  your  uncle.  Great  idea  of  his,  sending 
us  off  here  directly  after  breakfast." 

Her  face  darkened  for  a  moment,  and  he  realised 
his  error.  The  same  thought,  indeed,  had  been  in 
both  their  minds.  Mr.  Fentolin's  courteous  sugges- 
tion had  been  offered  to  them  almost  in  the  shape  of  a 
command.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  escape  from  the 
reflection  that  he  had  desired  to  rid  himself  of  their 
presence  for  the  morning. 

"  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  I  knew  that  these  links 
were  good  —  quite  famous,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  I  have  played  on  so  few  others,"  she  told  him. 
"  I  learned  my  golf  here  with  King,  the  professional." 

He  took  off  his  cap  and  handed  it  to  his  caddy. 
He  himself  was  beginning  already  to  look  younger. 
The  long  blue  waves  came  rippling  up  the  creeks. 
The  salt  wind,  soft  with  sunshine,  blew  in  their  faces. 
The  marshes  on  the  landward  side  were  mauve  with 
lavender  blossom.  In  the  distance,  the  red-tiled  cot- 
tages nestled  deep  among  a  background  of  green  trees 
and  rising  fields. 

"  This  indeed  is  a  land  of  peace,"  he  declared.  "  If 
I  hadn't  to  give  you  quite  so  many  strokes,  I  should 
be  really  enjoying  myself." 

'  You  don't  play  like  a  man  who  has  been  living 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      147 

abroad  for  a  great  many  years,"  she  remarked. 
"  Tell  me  about  some  of  the  places  you  have  visited?  " 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  seriously,"  he  begged.  "  I'll 
tell  you  of  them  but  let  it  be  later  on.  This  morning 
I  feel  that  the  .spring  air  is  getting  into  my  head. 
I  have  an  absurd  desire  to  talk  nonsense." 

"  So  far,"  she  admitted,  "  you  haven't  been  al- 
together unsuccessful." 

"  If  you  are  alluding,"  he  replied,  "  to  the  personal 
remarks  I  was  emboldened  to  make  on  my  way  here, 
I  can  only  say  that  they  were  excused  by  their  truth- 
fulness." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  you  have  known  me  long 
enough  to  tell  me  what  colours  suit  me,"  she  de- 
murred. 

"  Then  what  will  you  say,"  he  enquired,  "  if  I 
admire  the  angle  of  that  quill  in  your  hat  ?  " 

"  Don't  do  it,"  she  laughed.  "  If  you  continue 
like  this,  I  may  have  to  go  home." 

"  You  have  sent  the  car  away,"  he  reminded  her 
cheerfully.  "  You  would  simply  have  to  sit  upon  the 
balcony  and  reflect  upon  your  wasted  morning." 

"  I  decline  to  talk  upon  the  putting  green,"  she 
said.  "  It  puts  me  off.  If  you  will  stand  perfectly 
quiet  and  say  nothing,  I  will  play  the  like." 

They  moved  off  presently  to  the  next  teeing  ground. 

"  I  don't  believe  this  nonsense  is  good  for  our  golf," 
she  said. 

"  It  is  immensely  good  for  us  as  human  beings," 
he  protested. 

They  had  played  the  ninth  hole  and  turned  for 
home.  On  their  right  now  was  a  shimmering  stretch 
of  wet  sand  and  a  thin  line  of  sea  in  the  distance. 


148      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

The  tide,  receding,  had  left  little  islands  of  virgin, 
sand,  grass  tufted,  the  home  of  countless  sea-gulls. 
A  brown-sailed  fishing  boat  was  racing  for  the  narrow- 
entrance  to  the  tidal  way. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  understand  what  there  is  about 
this  coast  which  fascinated  my  father  so,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Are  you?  "  she  answered  gravely.  "  Years  ago  I 
used  to  love  it,  but  not  now." 

He  tried  to  change  the  subject,  but  the  gloom  had 
settled  upon  her  face  once  more. 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is  like,"  she  went  on,  as 
they  walked  side  by  side  after  their  balls,  "  to  live 
day  and  night  in  fear,  with  no  one  to  talk  to  —  no 
one,  that  is  to  say,  who  is  not  under  the  same  shadow. 
Even  the  voices  of  the  wind  and  the  sea,  and  the 
screaming  of  the  birds,  seem  to  bring  always  an  evil 
message.  There  is  nothing  kindly  or  hopeful  even  in 
the  sunshine.  At  night,  when  the  tide  comes  thunder- 
ing in  as  it  does  so  often  at  this  time  of  the  year,  one 
is  afraid.  There  is  so  much  to  make  one  afraid !  " 

She  had  turned  pale  again,  notwithstanding  the 
sunshine  and  the  freshening  wind.  He  laid  his  hand 
lightly  upon  her  arm.  She  suffered  his  touch  without 
appearing  to  notice  it. 

"  Ah,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that !  "  he  pleaded. 
"  Do  you  know  what  you  make  me  feel  like?  " 

She  came  back  from  the  world  of  her  own  unhappy 
imaginings. 

"  Really,  I  forgot  myself,"  she  declared,  with  a  lit- 
tle smile.  "  Never  mind,  it  does  one  good  sometimes. 
One  up,  are  you?  Henceforth,  then,  golf — all  the: 
rigour  of  the  game,  mind." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      149 

He  fell  in  with  her  mood,  and  their  conversation 
touched  only  upon  the  game.  On  the  last  green  he 
suffered  defeat  and  acknowledged  it  with  a  little 
grimace. 

"  If  I  might  say  so,  Miss  Fentolin,"  he  protested, 
"  you  are  a  little  too  good  for  your  handicap.  I  used 
to  play  a  very  reasonable  scratch  myself,  but  I  can't 
give  you  the  strokes." 

She  smiled. 

"  Doubtless  your  long  absence  abroad,"  she  began 
slowly,  "  has  affected  your  game." 

"  I  was  round  in  eighty-one,"  he  grumbled. 

"  You  must  have  travelled  in  many  countries,"  she 
continued,  "  where  golf  was  an  impossibility." 

"  Naturally,"  he  admitted.  "  Let  us  stay  and 
have  lunch  and  try  again." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  little  sigh  of  regret. 

"  You  see,  the  car  is  waiting,"  she  pointed  out. 
"  We  are  expected  home.  I  shan't  be  a  minute  put- 
ting my  clubs  away." 

They  sped  swiftly  along  the  level  road  towards  St. 
David's  Hall.  Far  in  the  distance  they  saw  it,  built 
upon  that  strange  hill,  with  the  sunlight  flashing  in  its 
windows.  He  looked  at  it  long  and  curiously. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  yours  is  the  most  ex- 
traordinarily situated  house  I  have  ever  seen.  Fancy 
a  gigantic  mound  like  that  in  the  midst  of  an  abso- 
lutely flat  marsh." 

She  nodded. 

"  There  is  no  other  house  quite  like  it  in  England," 
she  said.  "  I  suppose  it  is  really  a  wonderful  place. 
Have  you  looked  at  the  pictures  ?  " 

"  Not  carefully,"  he  told  her. 


i5o      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  You  must  before  you  leave,"  she  insisted.  "  Mr. 
Fentolin  is  a  great  judge,  and  so  was  his  father." 

Their  road  curved  a  little  to  the  sea,  and  at  its  last 
bend  they  were  close  to  the  pebbly  ridge  on  which  the 
Tower  was  built.  He  touched  the  electric  bell  and 
stopped  the  car. 

"  Do  let  us  walk  along  and  have  a  look  at  my  queer 
possession  once  more,"  he  begged.  "  Luncheon,  you 
told  me,  is  not  till  half-past  one,  and  it  is  a  quarter  to 
now." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  assented. 
They  left  the  car  and  walked  along  the  little  track, 
bordered  with  white  posts,  which  led  on  to  the  ridge. 
To  their  right  was  the  village,  separated  from  them 
only  by  one  level  stretch  of  meadowland ;  in  the  back- 
ground, the  hall.  They  turned  along  the  raised  dike 
just  inside  the  pebbly  beach,  and  she  showed  her  com- 
panion the  narrow  waterway  up  to  the  village.  At  its 
entrance  was  a  tall  iron  upright,  with  a  ladder  at- 
tached and  a  great  lamp  at  the  top. 

"  That  is  to  show  them  the  way  in  at  night,  isn't 
it?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  she  told  him.  "  Mr.  Fentolin  had  it  placed 
there.  And  yet,"  she  went  on,  "  curiously  enough, 
since  it  was  erected,  there  have  been  more  wrecks  than 
ever." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  a  dangerous  beach,"  he  remarked. 

She  pointed  to  a  spot  about  fifty  yards  from  the 
Tower.  It  was  the  spot  to  which  the  woman  whom 
he  had  met  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  had  pointed. 

"  You  can't  see  them,"  she  said ;  "  they  are  always 
out  of  sight,  even  when  the  tide  is  at  the  lowest  —  but 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      151 

there  are  some  hideous  sunken  rocks  there.  '  The 
Daggers,'  they  call  them.  One  or  two  fishing  boats 
have  been  lost  on  them,  trying  to  make  the  village. 
When  Mr.  Fentolin  put  up  the  lamp,  every  one  thought 
that  it  would  be  quite  safe  to  try  and  get  in  at  night. 
This  winter,  though,  there  have  been  three  wrecks 
which  no  one  could  understand.  It  must  be  something 
in  the  currents,  or  a  sort  of  optical  illusion,  because 
in  the  last  shipwreck  one  man  was  saved,  and  he  swore 
that  at  the  time  they  struck  the  rock,  they  were 
headed  straight  for  the  light." 

They  had  reached  the  Tower  now.  Hamel  became 
a  little  absorbed.  They  walked  around  it,  and  he 
tried  the  front  door.  He  found,  as  he  had  expected, 
that  it  opened  readily.  He  looked  around  him  for 
several  moments. 

"  Your  uncle  has  been  here  this  morning,"  he  re- 
marked quietly. 

"  Very  likely." 

"  That  outhouse,"  he  continued,  "  must  be  quite  a 
large  place.  Have  you  any  idea  what  it  is  he  works 
upon  there  ?  " 

"  None,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  around  him  once  more. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  has  been  preparing  for  my  coming," 
he  observed.  "  I  see  that  he  has  moved  a  few  of  his 
personal  things." 

She  made  no  reply,  only  she  shivered  a  little  as  she 
stepped  back  into  the  sunshine. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  like  my  little  domicile,"  he  re- 
marked, as  they  started  off  homeward. 

"  I  don't,"  she  admitted  curtly. 

"  In  the  train,"  he  reminded  her,   "  you   seemed 


i52      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

rather  to  discourage  my  coming  here.  Yet  last  night, 
after  dinner  — " 

"  I  was  wrong,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  should  have 
said  nothing,  and  yet  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  don't  sup- 
pose it  will  make  any  difference." 

"  Make  any  difference  to  what  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  confessed.  "  Only  I  have 
a  strange  antipathy  to  the  place.  I  don't  like  it. 
My  uncle  sometimes  shuts  himself  up  here  for  quite  a 
long  time.  We  have  an  idea,  Gerald  and  I,  that 
things  happen  here  sometimes  which  no  one  knows  of. 
When  he  comes  back,  he  is  moody  and  ill-tempered,  or 
else  half  mad  with  excitement.  He  isn't  always  the 
amiable  creature  whom  you  have  met.  He  has  the 
face  of  an  angel,  but  there  are  times  — " 

"  Well,  don't  let's  talk  about  him,"  Hamel  begged, 
as  her  voice  faltered.  "  Now  that  I  am  going  to  stay 
in  the  neighbourhood  for  a  few  days,  you  must  please 
remember  that  it  is  partly  your  responsibility.  You 
are  not  going  to  shut  yourself  up,  are  you?  You'll 
come  and  play  golf  again?  " 

"  If  he  will  let  me,"  she  promised. 

"  I  think  he  will  let  you,  right  enough,"  Hamel  ob- 
served. "  Between  you  and  me,  I  rather  think  he 
hates  having  me  down  at  the  Tower  at  all.  He  will 
encourage  anything  that  takes  me  away,  even  as  far 
as  the  Golf  Club." 

They  were  approaching  the  Hall  now.  She  was 
looking  once  more  as  she  had  looked  last  night.  She 
had  lost  her  colour,  her  walk  was  no  longer  buoyant. 
She  had  the  air  of  a  prisoner  who,  after  a  brief  spell  of 
liberty,  enters  once  more  the  place  of  his  confinement. 
Gerald  came  out  to  meet  them  as  they  climbed  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER       153 

stone  steps  which  led  on  to  the  terrace.  He  glanced 
behind  as  he  greeted  them,  and  then  almost  stealthily 
took  a  telegram  from  his  pocket. 

"  This  came  for  you,"  he  remarked,  handing  it 
to  Hamel.  "  I  met  the  boy  bringing  it  out  of  the 
office." 

Hamel  tore  it  open,  with  a  word  of  thanks.  Gerald 
stood  in  front  of  him  as  he  read. 

"  If  you  wouldn't  mind  putting  it  away  at  once,"  he 
asked,  a  little  uncomfortably.  "  You  see,  the  tele- 
graph office  is  in  the  place,  and  my  uncle  has  a  queer 
rule  that  every  telegram  is  brought  to  him  before  it  is 
delivered." 

Hamel  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  He  was  look- 
ing at  the  few  words  scrawled  across  the  pink  sheet 
with  a  heavy  black  pencil: 

"  Make  every  enquiry  In  your  neighbourhood 
for  an  American,  John  P.  Dunster,  entrusted 
with  message  of  great  importance,  addressed  to 
Von  Dusenberg,  The  Hague.  Is  believed  to 
have  been  in  railway  accident  near  Wymondham, 
and  to  have  been  taken  from  inn  by  young  man 
in  motor-car.  Suggest  that  he  is  being  im- 
properly detained." 

Hamel  crumpled  up  the  telegram  and  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket. 

"  By-the-by,"  he  asked,  as  they  ascended  the  steps, 
"  what  did  you  say  the  name  of  this  poor  fellow  was 
who  is  lying  ill  up-stairs?  " 

Gerald  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  he  answered 
as  though  a  species  of  recklessness  had  seized  him. 

"  He  called  himself  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Mr.  Fentolin,  having  succeeded  in  getting  rid  of  his 
niece  and  his  somewhat  embarrassing  guest  for  at  least 
two  hours,  was  seated  in  his  study,  planning  out  a 
somewhat  strenuous  morning,  when  his  privacy  was 
invaded  by  Doctor  Sarson. 

"  Our  guest,"  the  latter  announced,  in  his  usual 
cold  and  measured  tones,  "  has  sent  me  to  request  that 
you  will  favour  him  with  an  interview." 

Mr.  Fentolin  laid  his  pen  deliberately  down. 

"  So  soon,"  he  murmured.  "  Very  well,  Sarson,  I 
am  at  his  service.  Say  that  I  will  come  at  once." 

Mr.  Fentolin  lost  no  time  in  paying  this  suggested 
visit.  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster,  shaved  and  clothed,  was 
seated  in  an  easy-chair  drawn  up  to  the  window  of  his 
room,  smoking  what  he  was  forced  to  confess  was  a 
very  excellent  cigar.  He  turned  his  head  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Mr.  Fentolin  waved  his  hand  pleasantly. 

"  Really,"  he  declared,  "  this  is  most  agreeable.  I 
had  an  idea,  Mr.  Dunster,  that  I  should  find  you  a 
reasonable  person.  Men  of  your  eminence  in  their 
profession  usually  are." 

Mr.  Dunster  looked  at  the  speaker  curiously. 

"  And  what  might  my  profession  be,  Mr.  Fento- 
lin ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal 
about  me." 

"  It  is  true,"  Mr.  Fentolin  admitted.  "  I  do  know 
a  great  deal." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      155 

Mr.  Dunster  knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigar. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  the  bearer  of  several 
important  communications  from  my  side  of  the  At- 
lantic to  England  and  to  the  Continent,  and  I  have 
always  known  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  risk 
in  the  business.  Once  I  had  an  exceedingly  narrow 
shave,"  he  continued  reminiscently,  '!  but  this  is  the 
first  time  I  have  ever  been  dead  up  against  it,  and  I 
don't  mind  confessing  that  you've  fairly  got  me 
puzzled.  Who  the  mischief  are  you,  Mr.  Fentolin, 
and  what  are  you  interfering  about?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  queerly. 

"  I  am  what  you  see,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  one  of 
those  unfortunate  human  beings  who,  by  reason  of 
their  physical  misfortunes,  are  cut  off  from  the  world 
of  actual  life.  I  have  been  compelled  to  seek  distrac- 
tion in  strange  quarters.  I  have  wealth  —  great 
wealth  I  suppose  I  should  say;  an  inordinate  curios- 
ity, a  talent  for  intrigue.  As  to  the  direction  in  which 
I  carry  on  my  intrigues,  or  even  as  to  the  direct  in- 
terests which  I  study,  that  is  a  matter,  Mr.  Dunster, 
upon  which  I  shall  not  gratify  your  curiosity  nor 
anybody  else's.  But,  you  see,  I  am  admitting  freely 
that  it  does  interest  me  to  interfere  in  great  affairs." 

"  But  how  on  earth  did  you  get  to  know  about 
me,"  Mr.  Dunster  asked,  "  and  my  errand  ?  You 
couldn't  possibly  have  got  me  here  in  an  ordinary  way. 
It  was  an  entire  fluke." 

"  There,  you  speak  with  some  show  of  reason.  I 
have  a  nephew  whom  you  have  met,  who  is  devoted  to 
me." 

"  Mr.  Gerald  Fentolin,"  Mr.  Dunster  remarked 
drily. 


156      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Precisely,"  Mr.  Fentolin  declared.  "  Well,  I  ad- 
mit frankly  the  truth  of  what  you  say.  Your  —  er 
—  shall  we  say  capture,  was  by  way  of  being  a  gigan- 
tic fluke.  My  nephew's  instructions  simply  were  to 
travel  down  by  the  train  to  Harwich  with  you,  to 
endeavour  to  make  your  acquaintance,  to  follow  you 
on  to  your  destination,  and,  if  any  chance  to  do  so 
occurred,  to  relieve  you  of  your  pocket-book.  That, 
however,  I  never  ventured  to  expect.  What  really 
happened  was,  as  you  have  yourself  suggested,  almost 
in  the  nature  of  a  miracle.  My  nephew  showed  him- 
self to  be  possessed  of  gifts  which  were  a  revelation 
to  me.  He  not  only  succeeded  in  travelling  with  you 
by  the  special  train,  but  after  its  wreck  he  was  clever 
enough  to  bring  you  here,  instead  of  delivering  you 
over  to  the  mercies  of  a  village  doctor.  I  really  can- 
not find  words  to  express  my  appreciation  of  my 
nephew's  conduct." 

"  I  could,"  Mr.  Dunster  muttered,  "  very  easily !  '* 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed  gently. 

"  Perhaps  our  points  of  view  might  differ." 

"  We  have  spent  a  very  agreeable  few  minutes  in 
explanations,"  Mr.  Dunster  continued.  "  Would  it 
be  asking  too  much  if  I  now  suggest  that  we  remove 
the  buttons  from  our  foils  ?  " 

"Why  not?"  Mr.  Fentolin  assented  smoothly. 
'  Your  first  question  to  yourself,  under  these  circum- 
stances, would  naturally  be : '  What  does  Mr.  Fentolin 
want  with  me?  '  I  will  answer  that  question  for  you. 
All  that  I  ask  —  it  is  really  very  little  —  is  the  word 
agreed  upon." 

Mr.  Dunster  held  his  cigar  a  little  way  off  and 
looked  steadfastly  at  his  host  for  a  moment. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      157 

"  So  you  have  interpreted  my  cipher?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  spread  out  the  palms  of  his  hands  in 
a  delicate  gesture. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Dunster,"  he  said,  "  one  of  the 
simplest,  I  think,  that  was  ever  strung  together.  I 
am  somewhat  of  an  authority  upon  ciphers." 

"  I  gather,"  Mr.  Dunster  went  on,  although  his 
cigar  was  burning  itself  out,  "  that  you  have  broken 
the  seal  of  my  dispatches  ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  closed  his  eyes  as  though  he  had  heard 
a  discord. 

"  Nothing  so  clumsy  as  that,  I  hope,"  he  mur- 
mured gently.  "  I  will  not  insult  a  person  of  your 
experience  and  intelligence  by  enumerating  the  various 
ways  in  which  the  seal  of  a  dispatch  may  be  liquefied. 
It  is  quite  true  that  I  have  read  with  much  pleasure 
the  letter  which  you  are  carrying  from  a  certain 
group  of  very  distinguished  men  to  a  certain  person 
now  in  The  Hague.  The  letter,  however,  is  replaced 
in  its  envelope ;  the  seal  is  still  there.  You  need  have 
no  fears  whatever  concerning  it.  All  that  I  require 
is  that  one  word  from  you." 

"  And  if  I  give  you  that  one  word?  "  Mr.  Dunster 
asked. 

"  If  you  give  it  me,  as  I  think  you  will,"  Mr.  Fento- 
lin replied  suavely,  "  I  shall  then  telegraph  to  my 
agent,  or  rather  I  should  say  to  a  dear  friend  of 
mine  who  lives  at  The  Hague,  and  that  single  word 
will  be  cabled  by  him  from  The  Hague  to  New 
York." 

"  And  in  that  case,"  Mr.  Dunster  enquired,  "  what 
would  become  of  me?  " 

"  You  would  give  us  the  great  pleasure  of  your 


I58      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

company  here  for  a  very  brief  visit,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
answered.  "  We  should,  I  can  assure  you,  do  our 
very  best  to  entertain  you." 

"  And  the  dispatch  which  I  am  carrying  to  The 
Hague?" 

"  Would  remain  here  with  you." 

Mr.  Dunster  knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigar. 
Without  being  a  man  of  great  parts,  he  was  a  shrewd 
person,  possessed  of  an  abundant  stock  of  common 
sense.  He  applied  himself,  for  a  few  moments,  to  a 
consideration  of  this  affair,  without  arriving  at  any 
satisfactory  conclusion. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  must 
really  forgive  me,  but  I  can't  see  what  you're  driving 
at.  You  are  an  Englishman,  are  you  not?  " 

"  I  am  an  Englishman,"  Mr.  Fentolin  confessed ; 
"  or  rather,"  he  added,  with  ghastly  humour,  "  I  am 
half  an  Englishman." 

"  You  are,  I  am  sure,"  Mr.  Dunster  continued,  "  a 
person  of  intelligence,  a  well-read  person,  a  person  of 
perceptions.  Surely  you  can  see  and  appreciate  the 
danger  with  which  your  country  is  threatened  ?  " 

"  With  regard  to  political  affairs,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
admitted,  "  I  consider  myself  unusually  well  posted  — 
in  fact,  the  study  of  the  diplomatic  methods  of  the 
various  great  Powers  is  rather  a  hobby  of  mine." 

"  Yet,"  Mr.  Dunster  persisted,  "  you  do  not  wish 
this  letter  delivered  to  that  little  conference  in  The 
Hague,  which  you  must  be  aware  is  now  sitting  prac- 
tically to  determine  the  fate  of  your  nation  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied,  "  I  do  not 
intend,  that  that  letter  shall  be  delivered.  Why  do 
you  worry  about  my  point  of  view?  I  may  have  a 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      159 

dozen  reasons.  I  may  believe  that  it  will  be  good  for 
my  country  to  suffer  a  little  chastisement." 

"  Or  you  may,"  Mr.  Dunster  suggested,  glancing 
keenly  at  his  host,  "  be  the  paid  agent  of  some  foreign 
Power." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head. 

"  My  means,"  he  pointed  out,  "  should  place  me 
above  such  suspicion.  My  income,  I  really  believe,  is 
rather  more  than  fifty  thousand  pounds  a  year.  I 
should  not  enter  into  these  adventures,  which  nat- 
urally are  not  entirely  dissociated  from  a  certain 
amount  of  risk,  for  the  purposes  of  financial  gain." 

Mr.  Dunster  was  still  mystified. 

"  Granted  that  you  do  so  from  pure  love  of  ad- 
venture," he  declared,  "  I  still  cannot  see  why  you 
should  range  yourself  on  the  side  of  your  country's 
enemies." 

"  In  time,"  Mr.  Fentolin  observed,  "  even  that  may 
become  clear  to  you.  At  present,  well  —  just  that 
word,  if  you  please  ?  " 

Mr.  Dunster  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  decided,  "  I  do  not  think  so.  I  cannot 
make  up  my  mind  to  tell  you  that  word." 

Mr.  Fentolin  gave  no  sign  of  annoyance  or  even  dis- 
appointment. He  simply  sighed.  His  eyes  were  full 
of  a  gentle  sympathy,  his  face  indicated  a  certain 
amount  of  concern. 

"  You  distress  me,"  he  declared.  "  Perhaps  it  is 
my  fault.  I  have  not  made  myself  sufficiently  clear. 
The  knowledge  of  that  word  is  a  necessity  to  me. 
Without  it  I  cannot  complete  my  plans.  Without  it  I 
very  much  fear,  dear  Mr.  Dunster,  that  your  sojourn 
among  us  may  be  longer  than  you  have  any  idea  of." 


160      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Mr.  Dunster  laughed  a  little  derisively. 

"  We've  passed  those  days,"  he  remarked.  "  I've 
done  my  best  to  enter  into  the  humour  of  this  situa- 
tion, but  there  are  limits.  You  can't  keep  prisoners 
in  English  country  houses,  nowadays.  There  are  a 
dozen  ways  of  communicating  with  the  outside  world, 
and  when  that's  once  done,  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
position  of  Squire  Fentolin  of  St.  David's  Hall  might 
be  a  little  peculiar." 

Mr.    Fentolin    smiled,    very    slightly,    still    very 

blandly. 

"  Alas,  my  stalwart  friend,  I  fear  that  you  are  by 
nature  an  optimist !  I  am  not  a  betting  man,  but  I 
am  prepared  to  bet  you  a  hundred  pounds  to  one  that 
you  have  made  your  last  communication  with  the  out- 
side world  until  I  say  the  word." 

Mr.  Dunster  was  obviously  plentifully  supplied 
with  either  courage  or  bravado,  for  he  only  laughed. 

"  Then  you  had  better  make  up  your  mind  at  once, 
Mr.  Fentolin,  how  soon  that  word  is  to  be  spoken,  or 
you  may  lose  your  money,"  he  remarked. 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  very  quietly  in  his  chair. 

"  You  mean,  then,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  do  not  in- 
tend to  humour  me  in  this  little  matter?  " 

"  I  do  not  intend,"  Mr.  Dunster  assured  him,  "  to 
part  with  that  word  to  you  or  to  any  one  else  in  the 
the  world.  When  my  message  has  been  presented  to 
the  person  to  whom  it  has  been  addressed,  when  my 
trust  is  discharged,  then  and  then  only  shall  I  send 
that  cablegram.  That  moment  can  only  arrive  at  the 
end  of  my  journey." 

Mr.  Fentolin  leaned  now  a  little  forward  in  his 
chair.  His  face  was  still  •smooth  and  expressionless, 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      161 

but  there  was  a  queer  sort  of  meaning  in  his 
words. 

"  The  end  of  your  journey,"  he  said  grimly,  "  may 
be  nearer  than  you  think." 

"  If  I  am  not  heard  of  in  The  Hague  to-morrow  at 
the  latest,"  Mr.  Dunster  pointed  out,  "  remember  that 
before  many  more  hours  have  passed,  I  shall  be 
searched  for,  even  to  the  far  corners  of  the  earth." 

"  Let  me  assure  you,"  Mr.  Fentolin  promised  se- 
renely, "  that  though  your  friends  search  for  you  up 
in  the  skies  or  down  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  they 
will  not  find  you.  My  hiding-places  are  not  as  other 
people's." 

Mr.  Dunster  beat  lightly  with  his  square,  blunt  fore- 
finger upon  the  table  which  stood  by  his  side. 

"  That's  not  the  sort  of  talk  I  understand,"  he  de- 
clared curtly.  "  Let  us  understand  one  another,  if  we 
can.  What  is  to  happen  to  me,  if  I  refuse  to  give 
you  that  word?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  held  his  hand  in  front  of  his  eyes,  as 
though  to  shut  out  some  unwelcome  vision. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  unpleasant ! 
Why  should  you  force  me  to  disclose  my  plans?  Be 
content,  dear  Mr.  Dunster,  with  the  knowledge  of 
this  one  fact:  we  cannot  part  with  you.  I  have 
thought  it  over  from  every  point  of  view,  and  I  have 
come  to  that  conclusion ;  always  presuming,"  he  went 
on,  "  that  the  knowledge  of  that  little  word  of  which 
we  have  spoken  remains  in  its  secret  chamber  of  your 
memory." 

Mr.  Dunster  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  am  very  comfortable  here,"  he  remarked. 

"  You  delight  me,"  Mr.  Fentolin  murmured. 


162      THE   VANISHED   MESSENGER 

«*  Your  cook,"  Mr.  Dunster  continued,  "  has  wor 
my  heartfelt  appreciation.  Your  cigars  and  wines 
are  fit  for  any  nobleman.  Perhaps,  after  all,  this  lit- 
tle rest  is  good  for  me." 

Mr.  Fentolin  listened  attentively. 

"  Do  not  forget,"  he  said,  "  that  there  is  always  a 
limit  fixed,  whether  it  be  one  day,  two  days,  or  three 
days." 

"  A  limit  to  your  complacence,  I  presume?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  assented. 

"  Obviously,  then,"  Mr.  Dunster  concluded,  "  you 
wish  those  who  sent  me  to  believe  that  my  message  has 
been  delivered.  Yet  there  I  must  confess  that  you 
puzzle  me.  What  I  cannot  see  is,  to  put  it  bluntly, 
where  you  come  in.  Any  one  of  the  countries  repre- 
sented at  this  little  conference  would  only  be  the  gain- 
ers by  the  miscarriage  of  my  message,  which  is,  with- 
out doubt,  so  far  as  they  are  concerned,  of  a  distaste- 
ful nature.  Your  own  country  alone  could  be  the  suf- 
ferer. Now  what  interest  in  the  world,  then,  is  there 
left  —  what  interest  in  the  world  can  you  possibly  rep- 
resent —  which  can  be  the  gainer  by  your  present  ac- 
tion?" 

Mr.  Fentolin's  eyes  grew  suddenly  a  little  brighter. 
There  was  a  light  upon  his  face  strange  to  witness. 

"  The  power  which  is  to  be  the  gainer,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  is  the  power  encompassed  by  these  walls." 

He  touched  his  chest;  his  long,  slim  fingers  were 
folded  upon  it. 

"  When  I  meet  a  man  whom  I  like,"  he  continued 
softly,  "  I  take  him  into  my  confidence.  Picture  me, 
if  you  will,  as  a  kind  of  Puck.  Haven't  you  heard 
that  with  the  decay  of  the  body  comes  sometimes  a 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      163 

malignant  growth  in  the  brain;  a  Caliban-like  desire 
for  evil  to  fall  upon  the  world ;  a  desire  to  escape  from 
the  loneliness  of  suffering,  the  isolation  of  black  mis- 
ery?" 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  let  his  cigar  burn  out.  He 
looked  steadfastly  at  this  strange  little  figure  whose 
chair  had  imperceptibly  moved  a  little  nearer  to  his. 

"  You  know  what  the  withholding  of  this  message 
you  carry  may  mean,"  Mr.  Fentolin  proceeded. 
"  You  come  here,  bearing  to  Europe  the  word  of  a 
great  people,  a  people  whose  voice  is  powerful  enough 
even  to  still  the  gathering  furies.  I  have  read  your 
ciphered  message.  It  is  what  I  feared.  It  is  my  will, 
mine  —  Miles  Fentolin's  —  that  that  message  be  not 
delivered." 

"  I  wonder,"  Mr.  Dunster  muttered  under  his 
breath,  "  whether  you  are  in  earnest." 

"  In  your  heart,"  Mr.  Fentolin  told  him,  "  you 
know  that  I  am.  I  can  see  the  truth  in  your  face. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  you  begin  to  understand." 

"  To  a  certain  extent,"  Mr.  Dunster  admitted. 
"  Where  I  am  still  in  the  dark,  however,  is  why  you 
should  expect  that  I  should  become  your  confederate. 
It  is  true  that  by  holding  me  up  and  obstructing  my 
message,  you  may  bring  about  the  evil  you  seek,  but 
unless  that  word  is  cabled  back  to  New  York,  and  my 
senders  believe  that  my  message  has  been  delivered, 
there  can  be  no  certainty.  What  has  been  trusted  to 
me  as  the  safest  means  of  transmission,  might,  in  an 
emergency,  be  committed  to  a  cable." 

"  Excellent  reasoning,"  Fentolin  agreed.  "  For 
the  very  reasons  you  name  that  word  will  be  given." 

Mr.    Dunster's    face    was    momentarily    troubled. 


164      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

There  was  something  in  the  still,  cold  emphasis  of 
this  man's  voice  which  made  him  shiver. 

"  Do  you  think,"  Mr.  Fentolin  went  on,  "  that  I 
spend  a  great  fortune  buying  the  secrets  of  the  world, 
that  I  live  from  day  to  day  with  the  risk  of  igno- 
minious detection  always  hovering  about  me  —  do 
you  think  that  I  do  this  and  am  yet  unprepared  to 
run  the  final  risks  of  life  and  death?  Have  you  ever 
talked  with  a  murderer,  Mr.  Dunster?  Has  curi- 
osity ever  taken  you  within  the  walls  of  Sing  Sing? 
Have  you  sat  within  the  cell  of  a  doomed  man  and 
felt  the  thrill  of  his  touch,  of  his  close  presence? 
Well,  I  will  not  ask  you  those  questions.  I  will  sim- 
ply tell  you  that  you  are  talking  to  one  now." 

Mr.  Dunster  had  forgotten  his  extinct  cigar.  He 
found  it  difficult  to  remove  his  eyes  from  Mr.  Fento- 
lin's  face.  He  was  half  fascinated,  half  stirred  with 
a  vague,  mysterious  fear.  Underneath  these  wild 
words  ran  always  that  hard  note  of  truth. 

"  You  seem  to  be  in  earnest,"  he  muttered. 

"  I  am,"  Mr.  Fentolin  assured  him  quietly.  "  I 
have  more  than  once  been  instrumental  in  bringing 
about  the  death  of  those  who  have  crossed  my  pur- 
poses. I  plead  guilty  to  the  weakness  of  Nero.  Suf- 
fering and  death  are  things  of  joy  to  me.  There!  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  Mr.  Dunster  said  slowly,  "  that  I 
ought  not  to  wring  your  neck." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled.  His  chair  receded  an  inch 
or  two.  There  was  never  a  time  when  his  expression 
had  seemed  more  seraphic. 

"  There*  is  no  emergency  of  that  sort,"  he  re- 
marked, "  for  which  I  am  not  prepared." 

His  little  revolver  gleamed  for  a  minute  beneath  his 


cuff.  He  backed  his  chair  slowly  and  with  wonder- 
ful skill  towards  the  door. 

«  \ye  wiu  fix  the  period  of  your  probation,  Mr. 
Dunster,  at  —  say,  twenty-four  hours,"  he  decided. 
"  Please  make  yourself  until  then  entirely  at  home. 
My  cook,  my  cellar,  my  cigar  cabinets,  are  at  your 
disposal.  If  some  happy  impulse,"  he  concluded, 
"  should  show  you  the  only  reasonable  course  by  din- 
nertime, it  would  give  me  the  utmost  pleasure  to  have 
you  join  us  at  that  meal.  I  can  promise  you  a  cheque 
beneath  your  plate  which  even  you  might  think  worth 
considering,  wine  in  your  glass  which  kings  might 
sigh  for,  cigars  by  your  side  which  even  your  Mr. 
Pierpont  Morgan  could  not  buy.  Au  revoir !  " 

The  door  opened  and  closed.  Mr.  Dunster  sat 
staring  into  the  open  space  like  a  man  still  a  little 
dazed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  beautiful  but  somewhat  austere  front  of  St. 
David's  Hall  seemed,  in  a  sense,  transformed,  as 
Hamel  and  his  companion  climbed  the  worn  grey 
steps  which  led  on  to  the  broad  sweep  of  terrace.  Ev- 
idently visitors  had  recently  arrived.  A  dark,  rather 
good-looking  woman,  with  pleasant  round  face  and  a 
ceaseless  flow  of  conversation,  was  chattering  away  to 
Mr.  Fentolin.  By  her  side  stood  another  woman  who 
was  a  stranger  to  Hamel  —  thin,  still  elegant,  with 
tired,  worn  face,  and  the  shadow  of  something  in  her 
eyes  which  reminded  him  at  once  of  Esther.  She 
wore  a  large  picture  hat  and  carried  a  little  Pom- 
eranian dog  under  her  arm.  In  the  background, 
an  insignificant-looking  man  with  grey  side- 
whiskers  and  spectacles  was  beaming  upon  every- 
body. Mr.  Fentolin  waved  his  hand  and  beckoned 
to  Hamel  and  Esther  as  they  somewhat  hesitatingly 
approached. 

"  This  is  one  of  my  fortunate  mornings,  you  see, 
Esther !  "  he  exclaimed,  smiling.  "  Lady  Saxthorpe 
has  brought  her  husband  over  to  lunch.  Lady 
Saxthorpe,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  woman  at  his 
side,  "  let  me  present  to  you  the  son  of  one  of  the 
first  men  to  realise  the  elusive  beauty  of  our  coast. 
This  is  Mr.  Hamel,  son  of  Peter  Hamel,  R.A. —  the 
Countess  of  Saxthorpe." 

Lady  Saxthorpe,  who  had  been  engaged  in  greeting 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      167 

Esther,  held  out  her  hand  and  smiled  good-humour- 
edly  at  Hamel. 

"  I  know  your  father's  work  quite  well,"  she  de- 
clared, "  and  I  don't  wonder  that  you  have  made  a 
pilgrimage  here.  They  tell  me  that  he  painted  nine- 
teen pictures  —  pictures  of  importance,  that  is  to  say 
—  within  this  little  area  of  ten  miles.  Do  you  paint, 
Mr.  Hamel?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  Hamel  answered. 

"  Our  friend  Hamel,"  Mr.  Fentolin  intervened, 
"  woos  other  and  sterner  muses.  He  fights  nature 
in  distant  countries,  spans  her  gorges  with  iron 
bridges,  stems  the  fury  of  her  rivers,  and  carries  to 
the  boundary  of  the  world  that  little  twin  line  of 
metal  which  brings  men  like  ants  to  the  work-heaps  of 
the  universe.  My  dear  Florence,"  he  added,  suddenly 
turning  to  the  woman  at  his  other  side,  "  for  the 
moment  I  had  forgotten.  You  have  not  met  our 
guest  yet.  Hamel,  this  is  my  sister-in-law,  Mrs. 
Seymour  Fentolin." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  unnaturally  thin  and 
white,  covered  with  jewels.  Again  he  saw  something 
in  her  eyes  which  stirred  him  vaguely. 

"  It  is  so  nice  that  you  are  able  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  us,  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  am  sorry 
that  I  have  been  too  indisposed  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance earlier." 

"  And,  Saxthorpe,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued,  "  you 
must  know  my  young  friend  here,  too.  Mr.  Hamel  — 
Lord  Saxthorpe." 

The  latter  shook  hands  heartily  with  the  young 
man. 

"  I  knew  your  father  quite  well,"  he  announced. 


i68      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Queer  thing,  he  used  to  hang  out  for  months  at  a 
time  at  that  little  shanty  on  the  beach  there.  Hard- 
est work  in  the  world  to  get  him  away.  He  came  over 
to  dine  with  us  once  or  twice,  but  we  saw  scarcely  any- 
thing of  him.  I  hope  his  son  will  not  prove  so  ob- 
durate." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Hamel  murmured. 

"  Mr.  Hamel  came  into  these  parts  to  claim  his 
father's  property,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said.  "  However, 
I  have  persuaded  him  to  spend  a  day  or  two  up  here 
before  he  transforms  himself  into  a  misanthrope. 
What  of  his  golf,  Esther,  eh?  " 

"  Mr.  Hamel  plays  very  well,  indeed,"  the  girl  re- 
plied. 

"  Your  niece  was  too  good  for  me,"  Hamel  con- 
fessed. 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled. 

"  The  politeness  of  this  younger  generation,"  he 
remarked,  "  keeps  the  truth  sometimes  hidden  from 
'  us.  I  perceive  that  I  shall  not  be  told  who  won. 
Lady  Saxthorpe,  you  are  fortunate  indeed  in  the 
morning  you  have  chosen  for  your  visit.  There  is  no 
sun  in  the  world  like  an  April  siin,  and  no  corner  of 
the  earth  where  it  shines  with  such  effect  as  here. 
Look  steadily  to  the  eastward  of  that  second  dike 
and  you  will  see  the  pink  light  upon  the  sands,  which 
baffled  every  one  until  our  friend  Hamel  came  and 
caught  it  on  his  canvas." 

"  I  do  see  it,"  Lady  Saxthorpe  murmured.  "  What 
eyes  you  have,  Mr.  Fentolin!  What  perception  for 
colour ! " 

"  Dear  lady,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said,  "  I  am  one  of 
those  who  benefit  by  'the  law  of  compensations.  On 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      169 

a  morning  like  this  I  can  spend  hours  merely  feasting 
my  eyes  upon  this  prospect,  and  I  can  find,  if  not  hap- 
piness, the  next  best  thing.  The  world  is  full  of 
beautiful  places,  but  the  strange  part  of  it  is  that 
beauty  has  countless  phases,  and  each  phase  differs  in 
some  subtle  and  unexplainable  manner  from  all  others. 
Look  with  me  fixedly,  dear  Lady  Saxthorpe.  Look, 
indeed,  with  more  than  your  eyes.  Look  at  that  flush 
of  wild  lavender,  where  it  fades  into  the  sands  on  one 
side,  and  strikes  the  emerald  green  of  that  wet  sea- 
moss  on  the  other.  Look  at  the  liquid  blue  of  that 
tongue  of  sea  which  creeps  along  its  bed  through  the 
yellow  sands,  through  the  dark  meadowland,  which 
creeps  and  oozes  and  widens  till  in  an  hour's  time  it 
will  have  become  a  river.  Look  at  my  sand  islands, 
virgin  from  the  foot  of  man,  the  home  of  sea-gulls, 
the  islands  of  a  day.  There  may  be  other  and 
more  beautiful  places.  There  is  none  quite  like  this." 

"  I  pity  you  no  longer,"  Lady  Saxthorpe  asserted 
fervently.  "  The  eyes  of  the  artist  are  a  finer  pos- 
session than  the  limbs  of  the  athlete." 

The  butler  announced  luncheon,  and  they  all 
trooped  in.  Hamel  found  himself  next  to  Lady  Sax- 
thorpe. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Fentolin  has  been  so  kind,"  she  confided 
to  him  as  they  took  their  places.  "  I  came  in  fear  and 
trembling  to  ask  for  a  very  small  cheque  for  my  dear 
brother's  diocese.  My  brother  is  a  colonial  bishop, 
you  know.  Can  you  imagine  what  Mr.  Fentolin  has 
given  me  ?  " 

Hamel  wondered  politely.  Lady  Saxthorpe  con- 
tinued with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  A  thousand  pounds !     Just  fancy  that  —  a  thou- 


170      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

sand  pounds !  And  some  people  say  he  is  so  diffi- 
cult," she  went  on,  dropping  her  voice.  "  Mrs.  Hun- 
gerford  came  all  the  way  over  from  Norwich  to  beg 
for  the  infirmary  there,  and  he  gave  her  nothing." 

"  What  was  his  excuse?  "  Hamel  asked. 

"  I  think  he  told  her  that  it  was  against  his  princi- 
ples to  give  to  hospitals,"  Lady  Saxthorpe  replied. 
"  He  thinks  that  they  should  be  supported  out  of  the 
rates." 

"  Some  people  have  queer  ideas  of  charity,"  Hamel 
remarked.  "  Now  I  am  afraid  that  if  I  had  been 
Mr.  Fentolin,  I  would  have  given  the  thousand  pounds 
willingly  to  a  hospital,  but  not  a  penny  to  a  mission." 

Mr.  Fentolin  looked  suddenly  down  the  table.  He 
was  some  distance  away,  but  his  hearing  was  won- 
derful. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Hamel,"  he  said,  "  believe  me,  mis- 
sions are  very  wonderful  things.  It  is  only  from  a 
very  careful  study  of  their  results  that  I  have  brought 
myself  to  be  a  considerable  supporter  of  those  where  I 
have  some  personal  knowledge  of  the  organisation. 
Hospitals,  on  the  other  hand,  provide  for  the  poor 
what  they  ought  to  be  able  to  provide  for  themselves. 
The  one  thing  to  avoid  in  the  giving  away  of  money 
is  pauperisation.  What  do  you  think,  Florence?  " 

His  sister-in-law,  who  was  seated  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table,  looked  across  at  him  with  a  bright  but 
stereotyped  smile. 

"  I  agree  with  you,  of  course,  Miles.  I  always 
agree  with  you.  Mr.  Fentolin  has  the  knack  of  being 
right  about  most  things,"  she  continued,  turning  to 
Lord  Saxthorpe.  "  His  judgment  is  really  wonder- 
ful." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      171 

"  Wish  we  could  get  him  to  come  and  sit  on  the 
bench  sometimes,  then,"  Lord  Saxthorpe  remarked 
heartily.  "  Our  neighbours  in  this  part  of  the  world 
are  not  overburdened  with  brains.  By-the-by,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  reminds  me.  You  haven't  got  such 
a  thing  as  a  mysterious  invalid  in  the  house,  have 
you?" 

There  was  a  moment's  rather  curious  silence.  Mr. 
Fentolin  was  sitting  like  a  carved  figure,  with  a  glass 
of  wine  half  raised  to  his  lips.  Gerald  had  broken  off 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  was  staring  at  Lord 
Saxthorpe.  Esther  was  sitting  perfectly  still,  her 
face  grave  and  calm,  her  eyes  alone  full  of  fear. 
Lord  Saxthorpe  was  not  an  observant  man  and  he  con- 
tinued, quite  unconscious  of  the  sensation  which  his 
question  had  aroused. 

"  Sounds  a  silly  thing  to  ask  you,  doesn't  it? 
They're  all  full  of  it  at  Wells,  though.  I  sat  on  the 
bench  this  morning  and  went  into  the  police-station  for 
a  moment  first.  Seems  they've  got  a  long  dispatch 
from  Scotland  Yard  about  a  missing  man  who  is  sup- 
posed to  be  in  this  part  of  the  world.  He  came  down 
in  a  special  train  on  Tuesday  night  —  the  night  of 
the  great  flood  —  and  his  train  was  wrecked  at  Wy- 
mondham.  After  that  he  was  taken  on  by  some  one 
in  a  motor-car.  Colonel  Renshaw  wanted  me  to 
allude  to  the  matter  from  the  bench,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  that  it  was  an  affair  entirely  for  the  police." 

As  though  suddenly  realising  the  unexpected  inter- 
est which  his  words  had  caused,  Lord  Saxthorpe 
brought  his  sentence  to  a  conclusion  and  glanced  en- 
quiringly around  the  table. 

"  A  man  could   scarcely  disappear  in   a   civilised 


I72      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

neighbourhood  like  this,"  Mr.  Fentolin  remarked 
quietly,  "  but  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  coincidence 
about  your  question.  May  I  ask  whether  it  was  alto- 
gether a  haphazard  one?  " 

"Absolutely,"  Lord  Saxthorpe  declared.  "The 
idea  seems  to  be  that  the  fellow  was  brought  to  one 
of  the  houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  we  were  all 
rather  chaffing  one  another  this  morning  about  it. 
Inspector  Yardley  —  the  stout  fellow  with  the  beard, 
you  know  —  was  just  starting  off  in  his  dogcart  to 
make  enquiries  round  the  neighbourhood.  If  any  one 
in  fiction  wants  a  type  of  the  ridiculous  detective, 
there  he  is,  ready-made." 

"  The  coincidence  of  your  question,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
said  smoothly,  "  is  certainly  a  strange  one.  The 
mysterious  stranger  is  within  our  gates." 

Lady  Saxthorpe,  who  had  been  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion for  far  too  long,  laid  down  her  knife  and  fork. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Fentolin !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  My 
dear  Mrs.  Fentolin!  This  is  really  most  exciting! 
Do  tell  us  all  about  it  at  once.  I  thought  that  the 
man  was  supposed  to  have  been  decoyed  away  in  a 
motor-car.  Do  you  know  his  name  and  all  about 
him?" 

'  There  are  a  few  minor  points,"  Mr.  Fentolin  mur- 
mured, "  such  as  his  religious  convictions  and  his  size 
in  boots,  which  I  could  not  swear  about,  but  so  far 
as  regards  his  name  and  his  occupation,  I  think  I  can 
gratify  your  curiosity.  He  is  a  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster, 
and  he  appears  to  be  the  representative  of  an  Ameri- 
can firm  of  bankers,  on  his  way  to  Germany  to  con- 
clude a  loan." 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  Lord  Saxthorpe  exclaimed 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      173 

wonderingly.  "  The  fellow  is  actually  here  under 
this  roof!  But  who  brought  him?  How  did  he  find 
his  way  ?  " 

"  Better  ask  Gerald,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied.  "  He 
is  the  abductor.  It  seems  that  they  both  missed  the 
train  from  Liverpool  Street,  and  Mr.  Dunster  invited 
Gerald  to  travel  down  in  his  special  train.  Very  kind 
of  him,  but  might  have  been  very  unlucky  for  Gerald. 
As  you  know,  they  got  smashed  up  at  Wymondham, 
and  Gerald,  feeling  in  a  way  responsible  for  him, 
brought  him  on  here ;  quite  properly,  I  think.  Sarson 
has  been  looking  after  him,  but  I  am  afraid  he  has 
slight  concussion  of  the  brain." 

"  I  shall  remember  this  all  my  life,"  Lord  Saxthorpe 
declared  solemnly,  "  as  one  of  the  most  singular  co- 
incidences which  has  ever  come  within  my  personal 
knowledge.  Perhaps  after  lunch,  Mr.  Fentolin,  you 
will  let  some  of  your  people  telephone  to  the  police- 
station  at  Wells?  There  really  is  an  important  en- 
quiry respecting  this  man.  I  should  not  be  sur- 
prised," he  added,  dropping  his  voice  a  little  for  the 
benefit  of  the  servants,  "  to  find  that  Scotland  Yard 
ndeded  him  on  their  own  account." 

"  In  that  case,"  Mr.  Fentolin  remarked,  "  he  is 
quite  safe,  for  Sarson  tells  me  there  is  no  chance  of  his 
being  able  to  travel,  at  any  rate  for  twenty-four 
hours." 

Lady  Saxthorpe  shivered. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  to  have  him  in  the  house  ?  "  she 
asked,  "  a  man  who  is  really  and  actually  wanted  by 
Scotland  Yard?  When  one  considers  that  nothing 
ever  happens  here  except  an  occasional  shipwreck  in 
the  winter  and  a  flower-show  in  the  summer,  it  does 


i74      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

sound   positively   thrilling.     I   wonder  what   he  has 
done." 

They  discussed  the  subject  of  Mr.  Dunster's  pos- 
sible iniquities.  Meanwhile,  a  young  man  carrying 
his  hat  in  his  hand  had  slipped  in  past  the  servants 
and  was  leaning  over  Mr.  Fentolin's  chair.  He  laid 
two  or  three  sheets  of  paper  upon  the  table  and  waited 
while  his  employer  glanced  them  through  and  dis- 
missed him  with  a  little  nod. 

"  My  wireless  has  been  busy  this  morning,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  remarked.  "  We  seem  to  have  collected 
about  forty  messages  from  different  battleships  and 
cruisers.  There  must  be  a  whole  squadron  barely 
thirty  miles  out." 

"  You  don't  really  think,"  Lady  Saxthorpe  asked, 
"  that  there  is  any  fear  of  war,  do  you,  Mr.  Fento- 
lin?" 

He  answered  her  with  a  certain  amount  of  gravity. 
"Who  can  tell?     The  papers  this  morning  were 
bad.     This  conference  at  The  Hague  is  still  unex- 
plained.    France's  attitude  in  the  matter  is  especially 
mysterious." 

"  I  am  a  strong  supporter  of  Lord  Roberts,"  Lord 
Saxthorpe  said,  "  and  I  believe  in  the  vital  necessity 
of  some  scheme  for  national  service.  At  the  same 
time,  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  a  successful  invasion 
of  this  country  is  within  the  bounds  of  possibility." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Lord  Saxthorpe,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  declared  smoothly.  "All  the  same,  this 
Hague  Conference  is  a  most  mysterious  affair.  The 
papers  this  morning  are  ominously  silent  about  the 
fleet.  From  the  tangle  of  messages  we  have  picked 
up,  I  should  say,  without  a  doubt,  that  some  form  of 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      175 

mobilisation  is  going  on  in  the  North  Sea.  If  Lady 
Saxthorpe  thinks  it  warm  enough,  shall  we  take  our 
coffee  upon  the  terrace?  " 

"  The  terrace,  by  all  means,"  her  ladyship  assented, 
rising  from  her  place.  "  What  a  wonderful  man  you 
are,  Mr.  Fentolin,  with  your  wireless  telegraphy,  and 
your  telegraph  office  in  the  house,  and  telephones. 
Does  it  really  amuse  you  to  be  so  modern?  " 

"  To  a  certain  extent,  yes,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed, 
as  he  guided  his  chair  along  the  hall.  "  When  my 
misfortune  first  came,  I  used  to  speculate  a  good  deal 
upon  the  Stock  Exchange.  That  was  really  the 
reason  I  went  in  for  all  these  modern  appliances." 

"  And  now  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What  use  do  you  make 
of  them  now?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  quietly.  He  looked  out  sea- 
ward, beyond  the  sky-line,  from  whence  had  come  to 
him,  through  the  clouds,  that  tangle  of  messages. 

"  I  like  to  feel,"  he  said,  "  that  the  turning  wheel 
of  life  is  not  altogether  out  of  earshot.  I  like  to  dab- 
ble just  a  little  in  the  knowledge  of  these  things." 

Lord  Saxthorpe  came  strolling  up  to  them. 

"  You  won't  forget  to  telephone  about  this  guest 
of  yours  ?  "  he  asked  fussily. 

"  It  is  already  done,"  Mr.  Fentolin  assured  him. 
"  My  dear  sister,  why  so  silent  ?  " 

Mrs.  Fentolin  turned  slowly  towards  him.  She, 
too,  had  been  standing  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
distant,  sea-line.  Her  face  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
aged,  her  forced  vivacity  to  have  departed.  Her 
little  Pomeranian  rubbed  against  her  feet  in  vain. 
Yet  at  the  sound  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  voice,  she  seemed  to 
come  back  to  herself  as  though  by  magic. 


176      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  was  looking  where  you  were  looking,"  she  de- 
clared lightly,  "  just  trying  to  see  a  little  way  beyond. 
So  silly,  isn't  it?  Chow-Chow,  you  bad  little  dog, 
come  and  you  shall  have  your  dinner." 

She  strolled  off,  humming  a  tune  to  herself.  Lord 
Saxthorpe  watched  her  with  a  shadow  upon  his  plain, 
good-humoured  face. 

"  Somehow  or  other,"  he  remarked  quietly,  "  Mrs. 
Fentolin  never  seems  to  have  got  over  the  loss  of  her 
husband,  does  she  ?  How  long  is  it  since  he  died  ?  " 

"  Eight  years,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied.  "  It  was 
just  six  months  after  my  own  accident." 

"  I  am  losing  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  you, 
Mr.  Fentolin,"  Lady  Saxthorpe  confessed,  coming 
over  to  his  side.  "  You  have  so  many  resources, 
there  is  so  much  in  life  which  you  can  do.  You 
paint,  as  we  all  know,  exquisitely.  They  tell  me 
that  you  play  the  violin  like  a  master.  You  have 
unlimited  time  for  reading,  and  they  say  that  you 
are  one  of  the  greatest  living  authorities  upon  the 
politics  of  Europe.  Your  morning  paper  must  bring 
you  so  much  that  is  interesting." 

"  It  is  true,"  Mr.  Fentolin  admitted,  "  that  I  have 
compensations  which  no  one  can  guess  at,  compensa- 
tions which  appeal  to  me  more  as  time  steals  on. 
And  yet  — " 

He  stopped  short. 

"And  yet?"  Lady  Saxthorpe  repeated  interrog- 
atively. 

Mr.  Fentolin  was  watching  Gerald  drive  golf  balls 
from  the  lawn  beneath.  He  pointed  downwards. 

"  I  was  like  that  when  I  was  his  age,"  he  said 
quietly. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Mr.  Fentolin  remained  upon  the  terrace  long  after 
the  departure  of  his  guests.  He  had  found  a  sunny 
corner  out  of  the  wind,  and  he  sat  there  with  a  tele- 
scope by  his  side  and  a  budget  of  newspapers  upon 
his  knee.  On  some  pretext  or  another  he  had  de- 
tained all  the  others  of  the  household  so  that  they 
formed  a  little  court  around  him.  Even  Hamel, 
who  had  said  something  about  a  walk,  had  been  in- 
duced to  stop  by  an  appealing  glance  from  Esther. 
Mr.  Fentolin  was  in  one  of  his  most  loquacious  moods. 
For  some  reason  or  other,  the  visit  of  the  Saxthorpes 
seemed  to  have  excited  him.  He  talked  continually, 
with  the  briefest  pauses.  Every  now  and  then  he 
gazed  steadily  across  the  marshes  through  his  tele- 
scope. 

"  Lord  Saxthorpe,"  he  remarked,  "  has,  I  must 
confess,  greatly  excited  my  curiosity  as  to  the  iden- 
tity of  our  visitor.  Such  a  harmless-looking  per- 
son, he  seems,  to  be  causing  such  a  commotion. 
Gerald,  don't  you  feel  your  responsibility  in  the  mat- 
ter? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do ! "  Gerald  replied,  with  unexpected 
grimness.  "  I  feel  my  responsibility  deeply." 

Mr.  Fentolin,  who  was  holding  the  telescope  to 
his  eye,  touched  Hamel  on  the  shoulder. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  your  eyes  are  better 
than  mine.  You  see  the  road  there  ?  Look  along  it, 


i78      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

between  the  white  posts,  as  far  as  you  can.  What 
do  you  make  of  that  black  speck?  " 

Hamel  held  the  telescope  to-  his  eye  and  steadied 
it  upon  the  little  tripod  stand. 

"  It  looks  like  a  horse  and  trap,"  he  announced. 

"  Good !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  declared.  "  It  seemed  so 
to  me,  but  I  was  not  sure.  My  eyes  are  weak  this 
afternoon.  How  many  people  are  in  the  trap?  " 

"  Two,"  Hamel  answered.  "  I  can  see  them  dis- 
tinctly now.  One  man  is  driving,  another  is  sitting 
by  his  side.  They  are  coming  this  way." 

Mr.  Fentolin  blew  his  whistle.  Meekins  appeared 
almost  directly.  His  master  whispered  a  word  in  his 
ear.  The  man  at  once  departed. 

"  Let  me  make  use  of  your  eyes  once  more,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  begged.  "  About  these  two  men  in  the 
trap,  Mr.  Hamel.  Is  one  of  them,  by  any  chance, 
wearing  a  uniform?  " 

"  They  both  are,"  Hamel  replied.  "  The  man  who 
is  driving  is  wearing  a  peaked  hat.  He  looks  like  a 
police  inspector.  The  man  by  his  side  is  an  ordinary 
policeman." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed  gently. 

"  It  is  very  interesting,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  hope 
that  we  shall  not  see  an  arrest  under  my  roof.  I 
should  feel  it  a  reflection  upon  my  hospitality.  I 
trust,  I  sincerely  trust,  that  this  visit  does  not  bode 
any  harm  to  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster." 

Gerald  rose  impatiently  to  his  feet  and  swung 
across  the  terrace.  Mr.  Fentolin,  however,  called 
him  back. 

"  Gerald,"  he  advised,  "  better  not  go  away.  The 
inspector  may  desire  to  ask  you  questions.  You  will 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      179 

have  nothing  to  conceal.  It  was  a  natural  and  de- 
lightful impulse  of  yours  to  bring  the  man  who  had 
befriended  you,  and  who  was  your  companion  in  that 
disaster,  straight  to  your  own  home  for  treatment 
and  care.  It  was  an  admirable  impulse,  my  boy. 
You  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him,  too  — "  Gerald  began. 

"Be  careful,  Gerald." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  words  seemed  to  be  charged  with  a 
swift,  rapier-like  note.  The  boy  broke  off  in  his 
speech.  He  looked  at  Hamel  and  was  silent. 

"  Dear  me,"  Mrs.  Fentolin  mumured,  "  I  am  sure 
there  is  no  need  for  us  to  talk  about  this  poor  man 
as  though  anybody  had  done  anything  wrong  in 
having  him  here.  This,  I  suppose,  must  be  the 
Inspector  Yardley  whom  Lord  Saxthorpe  spoke 
of." 

"  A  very  intelligent-looking  officer,  I  am  sure,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  remarked.  "  Gerald,  go  and  meet  him,  if 
you  please.  I  should  like  to  speak  to  him  out  here." 

The  dog-cart  had  drawn  up  at  the  front  door, 
and  the  inspector  had  already  alighted.  Gerald  in- 
tervened as  he  was  in  the  act  of  questioning  the  but- 
ler. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  would  like  to  speak  to  you,  inspec- 
tor," he  said,  "  if  you  will  come  this  way." 

The  inspector  followed  Gerald  and  saluted  the 
little  group  solemnly.  Mr.  Fentolin  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  You  got  my  telephone  message,  inspector?  "  he 
asked. 

"  We  have  not  received  any  message  that  I  know  of, 
sir,"  the  inspector  replied.  "  I  have  come  over  here 


i8o      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

in  accordance  with  instructions  received  from  head- 
quarters —  in  fact  from  Scotland  Yard." 

"  Quite  so,"  Mr.  Fentolin  assented.  "  You've  come 
over,  I  presume,  to  make  enquiries  concerning  Mr. 
John  P.  Dunster?  " 

"  That  is  the  name  of  the  gentleman,  sir." 

"  I  only  understood  to-day  from  my  friend  Lord 
Saxthorpe,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued,  "  that  Mr.  Dun- 
ster was  being  enquired  about  as  though  he  had  dis- 
appeared. My  nephew  brought  him  here  after  the 
railway  accident  at  Wymondham,  since  when  he  has 
been  under  the  care  of  my  own  physician.  I  trust 
that  you  have  nothing  serious  against  him?" 

"  My  first  duty,  sir,"  the  inspector  pronounced, 
"  is  to  see  the  gentleman  in  question." 

"  By  all  means,"  Mr.  Fentolin  agreed.  "  Gerald, 
will  you  take  the  inspector  up  to  Mr.  Dunster's 
rooms?  Or  stop,  I  will  go  myself." 

Mr.  Fentolin  started  his  chair  and  beckoned  the 
inspector  to  follow  him.  Meekins,  who  was  waiting 
inside  the  hall,  escorted  them  by  means  of  the  lift  to 
the  second  floor.  They  made  their  way  to  Mr.  Dun- 
ster's room.  Mr.  Fentolin  knocked  softly  at  the 
door.  It  was  opened  by  the  nurse. 

"  How  is  the  patient?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  enquired. 

Doctor  Sarson  appeared  from  the  interior  of  the 
room. 

"  Still  unconscious,"  he  reported.  "  Otherwise,  the 
symptoms  are  favourable.  He  is  quite  unfit,"  the 
doctor  added,  looking  steadily  at  the  inspector,  "  to 
be  removed  or  questioned." 

"There  is  no  idea  of  anything  of  the  sort,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  explained.  "  It  is  Inspector  Yardley's  duty 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      181 

to  satisfy  himself  that  Mr.  Dunster  is  here.  It  is 
necessary  for  the  inspector  to  see  your  patient,  so 
that  he  can  make  his  report  at  headquarters." 

Doctor  Sarson  bowed. 

"  That  is  quite  simple,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Please  step 
in." 

They  all  entered  the  room,  which  was  large  and 
handsomely  furnished.  Through  the  open  windows 
came  a  gentle  current  of  fresh  air.  Mr.  Dunster  lay 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  luxury  of  fine  linen  sheets  and 
embroidered  pillow-cases.  The  inspector  looked  at 
him  stolidly. 

"  Is  he  asleep  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  the  third  day  of  his  concussion,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  He  is  still  unconscious.  He  will  remain  in 
the  same  condition  for  another  two  days.  After  that 
he  will  begin  to  recover." 

Mr.  Fentolin  touched  the  inspector  on  the  arm. 

"  You  see  his  clothing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,"  he 
pointed  out.  "  His  linen  is  marked  with  his  name. 
That  is  his  dressing-case  with  his  name  painted  on 
it." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied,  sir,"  the  inspector  announced. 
"  I  will  not  intrude  any  further." 

They  left  the  room.  Mr.  Fentolin  himself  escorted 
the  inspector  into  the  library  and  ordered  whisky 
and  cigars. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  unreasonably  curious," 
Mr.  Fentolin  remarked,  "  but  is  it  really  true  that 
you  have  had  enquiries  from  Scotland  Yard  about 
the  poor  fellow  up-stairs?  " 

"  We  had  a  very  important  enquiry  indeed,  sir," 


182      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  inspector  replied.  "  I  have  instructions  to  tele« 
graph  all  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  immediately." 

"  Pardon  my  putting  it  plainly,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
asked,  "  but  is  our  friend  a  criminal?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that,  sir,"  the  inspector 
answered.  "  I  know  of  no  charge  against  him.  I 
don't  know  that  I  have  the  right  to  say  so  much," 
he  added,  sipping  his  whisky  and  soda,  "  but  put- 
ting two  and  two  together,  I  should  rather  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  person  of  some  political 
importance." 

"  Not  a  criminal  at  all?  " 

"  Not  as  I  know  of,"  the  inspector  assented. 
"  That  isn't  the  way  I  read  the- enquiries  at  all." 

"  You  relieve  me,"  Mr.  Fentolin  declared.  "  Now 
what  about  his  possessions  ?  " 

"  There's  a  man  coming  down  shortly  from  Scot- 
land Yard,"  the  inspector  announced,  a  little  gloom- 
ily. "  My  orders  were  to  touch  nothing,  but  to  locate 
him." 

"  Well,  you've  succeeded  so  far,"  Mr.  Fentolin  re- 
marked. "  Here  he  is,  and  here  I  think  he  will  stay 
until  some  days  after  your  friend  from  Scotland 
Yard  can  get  here." 

"  It  does  seem  so,  indeed,"  the  inspector  agreed. 
"  To  roe  he  looks  terrible  ill.  But  there's  one  thing 
sure,  he's  having  all  the  care  and  attention  that's 
possible.  And  now,  sir,  I'll  not  intrude  further  upon 
your  time.  I'll  just  make  my  report,  and  you'll 
probably  have  a  visit  from  the  Scotland  Yard  man 
sometime  within  the  next  few  days." 

Mr.  Fentolin  escorted  the  inspector  to  his  dog-cart, 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  watched  him  drive  off. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      183 

Only  Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin  remained  upon  the  ter- 
race. He  glided  over  to  her  side. 

"  My  dear  Florence,"  he  asked,  "  where  are  the 
others?" 

"  Mr.  Hamel  and  Esther  have  gone  for  a  walk," 
she  answered.  "  Gerald  has  disappeared  somewhere. 
Has  anything  —  is  everything  all  right  ?  " 

"  Naturally,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied  easily.  "  All 
that  the  inspector  desired  was  to  see  Mr.  Dunster. 
He  has  seen  him.  The  poor  fellow  was  unfortunately 
unconscious,  but  our  friend  will  at  least  be  able  to 
report  that  he  was  in  good  hands  and  well  cared  for." 

"  Unconscious,"  Mrs.  Fentolin  repeated.  "  I 
thought  that  he  was  better." 

"  One  is  always  subject  to  those  slight  relapses  in 
an  affair  of  concussion,"  Mr.  Fentolin  explained. 

Mrs.  Fentolin  laid  down  her  work  and  leaned  a 
little  towards  her  brother-in-law.  Her  hand  rested 
upon  his.  Her  voice  had  fallen  to  a  whisper. 

"  Miles,"  she  said,  "  forgive  me,  but  are  you  sure 
that  you  are  not  getting  a  little  out  of  your  depth? 
Remember  that  there  are  some  risks  which  are  not 
worth  while." 

"  Quite  true,"  he  answered.  "  And  there  are  some 
risks,  my  dear  Florence,  which  are  worth  every  drop 
of  blood  in  a  man's  body,  and  every  breath  of  life. 
The  peace  of  Europe  turns  upon  that  man  up-stairs. 
It  is  worth  taking  a  little  risk  for,  worth  a  little 
danger.  I  have  made  my  plans,  and  I  mean  to  carry 
them  through.  Tell  me,  when  I  was  up-stairs,  this 
fellow  Hamel  —  was  he  talking  confidentially  to  Ger- 
ald? " 

"  Not  particularly." 


i84      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  trust  him,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
continued.  "  He  had  a  telegram  yesterday  from  a 
man  in  the  Foreign  Office,  a  telegram  which  I  did  not 
see.  He  took  the  trouble  to  walk  three  miles  to  send 
the  reply  to  it  from  another  office." 

"  But  after  all,"  Mrs.  Fentolin  protested,  "  you 
know  who  he  is.  You  know  that  he  is  Peter  Hamel's 
son.  He  had  a  definite  purpose  in  coming  here." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  Quite  true,"  he  admitted.  "  But  for  that,  Mr. 
Hamel  would  have  found  a  little  trouble  before  now. 
As  it  is,  he  must  be  watched.  If  any  one  comes  be- 
tween me  and  the  things  for  which  I  am  scheming 
to-day,  they  will  risk  death." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  sighed.  She  was  watching  the  fig- 
ures of  Esther  and  Hamel  far  away  in  the  distance, 
picking  their  way  across  the  last  strip  of  marshland 
which  lay  between  them  and  the  sea. 

"  Miles,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  you  take  advice  from 
no  one.  You  will  go  your  own  way,  I  know.  And 
yet,  it  seems  to  me  that  life  holds  so  many  compensa- 
tions for  you  without  your  taking  these  terrible  risks. 
I  am  not  thinking  of  any  one  else.  I  am  not  pleading 
to  you  for  the  sake  of  any  one  else.  I  am  thinking 
only  of  yourself.  I  have  had  a  sort  of  feeling  ever 
since  this  man  was  brought  into  the  house,  that 
trouble  would  come  of  it.  To  me  the  trouble  seems 
to  be  gathering  even  now." 

Mr.  Fentolin  laughed  softly,  a  little  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Presentiments,"  he  scoffed,  "  are  the  excuses  of 
cowards.  Don't  be  afraid,  Florence.  Remember  al- 
ways that  I  look  ahead.  Do  you  think  that  I  could 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      185 

stay  here  contented  with  what  you  call  my  compensa- 
tions —  my  art,  the  study  of  beautiful  things,  the 
calm  epicureanism  of  the  sedate  and  simple  life  ?  You 
know  very  well  that  I  could  not  do  that.  The  craving 
for  other  things  is  in  my  heart  and  blood.  The  ex- 
citement which  I  cannot  have  in  one  way,  I  must  find 
in  another,  and  I  think  that  before  many  nights  have 
passed,  I  shall  lie  on  my  pillow  and  hear  the  guns 
roar,  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  great  armies  of  the 
world  moving  into  battle.  It  is  for  that  I  live, 
Florence." 

She  took  up  her  knitting  again.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  sky-line.  Twice  she  opened  her  lips, 
but  twice  no  words  came. 

"You  understand?"  he  whispered.  "You  begin 
to  understand,  don't  you?  " 

She  looked  at  him  only  for  a  moment  and  back  at 
her  work. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  sighed. 


CHAPTER  XX 

In  the  middle  of  that  night  Hamel  sat  up  in  bed, 
awakened  with  a  sudden  start  by  some  sound,  only  the 
faintest  echo  of  which  remained  in  his  consciousness. 
His  nerves  were  tingling  with  a  sense  of  excitement. 
He  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened.  Suddenly  it  came 
again  —  a  long,  low  moan  of  pain,  stifled  at  the  end 
as  though  repressed  by  some  outside  agency.  He 
leaped  from  his  bed,  hurried  on  a  few  clothes,  and 
stepped  out  on  to  the  landing.  The  cry  had  seemed 
to  him  to  come  from  the  further  end  of  the  long  cor- 
ridor —  in  the  direction,  indeed,  of  the  room  where 
Mr.  Dunster  lay.  He  made  his  way  there,  walking 
on  tiptoe,  although  his  feet  fell  noiselessly  upon  the 
thick  carpet.  A  single  light  was  burning  from  a 
bracket  in  the  wall,  insufficient  to  illuminate  the  empty 
spaces,  but  enough  to  keep  him  from  stumbling.  The 
corridor  towards  the  south  end  gradually  widened, 
terminating  in  a  splendid  high  window  with  stained 
glass,  a  broad  seat,  and  a  table.  On  the  right,  the 
end  room  was  Mr.  Dunster's  apartment,  and  on  the 
left  a  flight  of  stairs  led  to  the  floor  above.  Hamel 
stood  quite  still,  listening.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
room,  as  he  could  see  from  under  the  door,  but  there 
was  no  sound  of  any  one  moving.  JIamel  listened  in- 
tently, every  sense  strained.  Then  the  sound  of  a 
stair  creaking  behind  diverted  his  attention.  He 
looked  quickly  around.  Gerald  was  descending. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      187 

The  boy's  face  was  white,  and  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
fear.  Hamel  stepped  softly  back  from  the  door  and 
met  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  cry  ?  "  he  whispered. 

Gerald  nodded. 

"  It  woke  me  up.     What  do  you  suppose  it  was?  " 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  Some  one  in  pain,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand it.  It  came  from  this  room." 

"You  know  who  sleeps  there?"  Gerald  asked 
hoarsely. 

Hamel  nodded. 

"  A  man  with  concussion  of  the  brain  doesn't  cry 
out  like  that.  Besides,  did  you  hear  the  end  of  it? 
It  sounded  as  though  some  one  were  choking  him. 
Hush!" 

They  had  spoken  only  in  bated  breath,  but  the 
door  of  the  room  before  which  they  were  standing 
was  suddenly  opened.  Meekins  stood  there,  fully 
dressed,  his  dark,  heavy  face  full  of  somber  warning. 
He  started  a  little  as  he  saw  the  two  whispering  to- 
gether. Gerald  addressed  him  almost  apologetically. 

"  We  both  heard  the  same  sound,  Meekins.  Is  any 
one  ill?  It  sounded  like  some  one  in  pain." 

The  man  hesitated.  Then  from  behind  his  shoulder 
came  Mr.  Fentolin's  still,  soft  voice.  There  was  a 
little  click,  and  Meekins,  as  though  obeying  an  un- 
seen gesture,  stepped  back.  Mr.  Fentolin  glided  on 
to  the  threshold.  He  was  still  dressed.  He  pro- 
pelled his  chair  a  few  yards  down  the  corridor  and 
beckoned  them  to  approach. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said  softly,  "  that  you  should 
have  been  disturbed,  Mr.  Hamel.  We  have  been  a 


i88      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

little  anxious  about  our  mysterious  guest.  Doctor 
Sarson  fetched  me  an  hour  ago.  He  discovered  that 
it  was  necessary  to  perform  a  very  slight  operation, 
merely  the  extraction  of  a  splinter  of  wood.  It  is  all 
over  now,  and  I  think  that  he  will  do  very  well." 

Notwithstanding  this  very  plausible  explanation, 
Hamel  was  conscious  of  the  remains  of  an  uneasiness 
which  he  scarcely  knew  how  to  put  into  words. 

"  It  was  a  most  distressing  cry,"  he  observed  doubt- 
fully, "  a  cry  of  fear  as  well  as  of  pain." 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  remarked  compas- 
sionately. "  I  am  afraid  that  for  a  moment  or  two 
he  must  have  suffered  acutely.  Doctor  Sarson  is 
very  clever,  however,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  what 
he  did  was  for  the  best.  His  opinion  is  that  by 
to-morrow  morning  there  will  be  a  marvellous  change. 
Good  night,  Mr.  Hamel.  I  am  quite  sure  that  you 
will  not  be  disturbed  again." 

Hamel  neither  felt  nor  showed  any  disposition  to 
depart. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  that  you  will 
not  think  that  I  am  officious  or  in  any  way  abusing 
your  hospitality,  but  I  cannot  help  suggesting  that 
as  Dr.  Sarson  is  purely  your  household  physician, 
the  relatives  of  this  man  Dunster  might  be  better 
satisfied  if  some  second  opinion  were  called  in.  Might 
I  suggest  that  you  telephone  to  Norwich  for  a  sur- 
geon ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  showed  no  signs  of  displeasure.  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  though  considering  the 
matter. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure,  Mr.  Hamel,  that  you  are 
not  right,"  he  admitted  frankly.  "  I  believe  that  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      189 

case  is  quite  a  simple  one,  but  on  the  other  hand  it 
would  perhaps  be  more  satisfactory  to  have  an  out- 
side opinion.  If  Mr.  Dunster  is  not  conscious  in  the 
morning,  we  will  telephone  to  the  Norwich  Infirm- 
ary." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  advisable,"  Hamel  agreed. 

"  Good  night !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  said  once  more.  "  1 
am  sorry  that  your  rest  has  been  disturbed." 

Hamel,  however,  still  refused  to  take  the  hint. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  that  closed  door. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  asked,  "  have  you  any  ob- 
jection to  my  seeing  Mr.  Dunster?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  intense  silence.  A  sudden 
light  had  burned  in  Mr.  Fentolin's  eyes.  His  fingers 
gripped  the  side  of  his  chair.  Yet  when  he  spoke 
there  were  no  signs  of  anger  in  his  tone.  It  was  a 
marvellous  effort  of  self-control. 

"  There  is  no  reason,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  said,  "  why 
your  curiosity  should  not  be  gratified.  Knock  softly 
at  the  door,  Gerald." 

The  boy  obeyed.  In  a  moment  or  two  Doctor 
Sarson  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  Our  guest,  Mr.  Hamel,"  Mr.  Fentolin  explained 
in  a  whisper,  "  has  been  awakened  by  this  poor  fel- 
low's cry.  He  would  like  to  see  him  for  a  moment." 

Doctor  Sarson  opened  the  door.  They  all  passed 
in  on  tiptoe.  The  doctor  led  the  way  towards  the 
bed  upon  which  Mr.  Dunster  was  lying,  quite  still. 
His  head  was  bandaged,  and  his  eyes  closed.  His 
face  was  ghastly.  Gerald  gave  vent  to  a  little  mut- 
tered exclamation.  Mr.  Fentolin  turned  to  him 
quickly. 

"Gerald!" 


igo      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

The  boy  stood  still,  trembling,  speechless.  Mr. 
Fentolin's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  him.  The  doctor 
was  standing,  still  and  dark,  a  motionless  image.* 

"Is  he  asleep?"  Hamel  asked. 

"  He  is  under  the  influence  of  a  mild  anaesthetic," 
Doctor  Sarson  explained.  "  He  is  doing  very  well. 
His  case  is  quite  simple.  By  to-morrow  morning  he 
will  be  able  to  sit  up  and  walk  about  if  he  wishes  to." 

Hamel  looked  steadily  at  the  figure  upon  the  bed. 
Mr.  Dunster's  breathing  was  regular,  and  his  eyes 
were  closed,  but  his  colour  was  ghastly. 

"  He  doesn't  look  like  getting  up  for  a  good  many 
days  to  come,"  Hamel  observed. 

The  doctor  led  the  way  towards  the  door. 

"  The  man  has  a  fine  constitution,"  he  said.  "  I 
feel  sure  that  if  you  wish  you  will  be  able  to  talk  to 
him  to-morrow." 

They  separated  'outside  in  the  passage.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  bade  his  guest  a  somewhat  restrained  good 
night,  and  Gerald  mounted  the  staircase  to  his  room. 
Hamel,  however,  had  scarcely  reached  his  door  be- 
fore Gerald  reappeared.  He  had  descended  the  stair- 
case at  the  other  end  of  the  corridor.  He  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  down  the  passage.  The  doors 
were  all  closed.  Even  the  light  had  been  extinguished. 

"  May  I  come  in  for  a  moment,  please  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

Hamel  nodded. 

"  With  pleasure !  Come  in  and  have  a  cigarette, 
if  you  will.  I  shan't  feel  like  sleep  for  some  time." 

They  entered  the  room,  and  Gerald  threw  himself 
into  an  easy-chair  near  the  window.  Hamel  wheeled 
up  another  chair  and  produced  a  box  of  cigarettes. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      191 

"  Queer  thing  your  dropping  across  that  fellow  in 
the  way  you  did,"  he  remarked.  "  Just  shows  how 
one  may  disappear  from  the  world  altogether,  and  no 
one  be  a  bit  the  wiser." 

The  boy  was  sitting  with  folded  arms.  His  ex- 
pression was  one  of  deep  gloom. 

"  I  only  wish  I'd  never  brought  him  here,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  I  ought  to  have  known  better." 

Hamel  raised  his  eyebrows. 

*  Isn't  he  as  well  off  here  as  anywhere  else  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  he  is  ?  "  Gerald  demanded,  look- 
ing across  at  Hamel. 

There  was  a  brief  silence. 

"  We  can  scarcely  do  your  uncle  the  injustice," 
Hamel  remarked,  "  of  imagining  that  he  can  possibly 
have  any  reason  or  any  desire  to  deal  with  that  man 
except  as  a  guest." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that?  "  Gerald  asked. 

Hamel  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Look  here,  young  man,"  he  said,  "  this  is  getting 
serious.  You  and  I  are  at  cross-purposes.  If  you 
like,  you  sha-ll  have  the  truth  from  me." 

"  Go  on." 

"  I  was  warned  about  your  uncle  before  I  came 
down  into  this  part  of  the  world,"  Hamel  continued 
quietly.  "  I  was  told  that  he  is  a  dangerous  conspir- 
ator, a  man  who  sticks  at  nothing  to  gain  his  ends, 
a  person  altogether  out  of  place  in  these  days.  It 
sounds  melodramatic,  but  I  had  it  straight  from  a 
friend.  Since  I  have  been  here,  I  have  had  a  tele- 
gram —  you  brought  it  to  me  yourself  —  asking  for 
information  about  this  man  Dunster.  It  was  I  who 
wired  to  London  that  he  was  here.  It  was  through 


*92      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

me  that  Scotland  Yard  communicated  with  the  police- 
station  at  Wells,  through  me  that  a  man  is  to  be  sent 
down  from  London.  I  didn't  come  here  as  a  spy  — 
don't  think  that;  I  was  coming  here,  anyhow.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  believe  that  your  uncle  is  playing 
a  dangerous  game.  I  am  going  to  have  Mr.  John  P. 
Dunster  put  in  charge  of  a  Norwich  physician  to- 
morrow." 

"  Thank  God !  "  the  boy  murmured. 

"  Look  here,"  Hamel  continued,  "  what  are  you 
doing  in  this  business,  anyway?  You  are  old  enough 
to  know  your  own  mind  and  to  go  your  own  way." 

"  You  say  that  because  you  don't  know,"  Gerald 
declared  bitterly. 

"  In  a  sense  I  don't,"  Hamel  admitted,  "  and  yet 
your  sister  hinted  to  me  only  this  afternoon  that 
you  and  she  — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  she  told  you ! "  the  boy  inter- 
rupted. "  We've  worn  the  chains  for  the  last  eight 
years.  They  are  breaking  her.  They've  broken  my 
mother.  Sometimes  I  think  they  are  breaking  me. 
But,  you  know,  there  comes  a  time  —  there  comes  a 
time  when  one  can't  go  on.  I've  seen  some  strange 
things  here,  some  that  I've  half  understood,  some  that 
I  haven't  understood  at  all.  I've  closed  my  eyes. 
I've  kept  my  promise.  I've  done  his  bidding,  wher- 
ever it  has  led  me.  But  you  know  there  is  a  time  — 
there  is  a  limit  to  all  things.  I  can't  go  on.  I  spied 
on  this  man  Dunster.  I  brought  him  here.  It  is  I 
who  am  responsible  for  anything  that  may  happen  to 
him.  It's  the  last  time !  " 

Gerald's  face  was  white  with  pain.  Hamel  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 


THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER      193 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  there  are  worse  things  in  the 
world  than  breaking  a  promise.  When  you  gave  it, 
the  conditions  which  were  existing  at  the  time  made 
it,  perhaps,  a  right  and  reasonable  undertaking,  but 
sometimes  the  whole  of  the  conditions  under  which 
a  promise  was  given,  change.  Then  one  must  have 
courage  enough  to  be  false  even  to  one's  word." 

"  Have  you  talked  to  my  sister  like  that?  "  Gerald 
asked  eagerly. 

"  I  have  and  I  will  again,"  Hamel  declared.  "  To- 
morrow morning  I  leave  this  house,  but  before  I  go 
I  mean  to  have  the  affair  of  this  man  Dunster  cleared 
up.  Your  uncle  will  be  very  angry  with  me,  without 
a  doubt.  I  don't  care.  But  I  do  want  you  to  trust 
me,  if  you  will,  and  your  sister.  I  should  like  to 
be  your  friend." 

"  God  knows  we  need  one !  "  the  boy  said  simply. 
"Good  night!" 

Once  more  the  house  was  quiet.  Hamel  pushed 
his  window  wide  open  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 
The  air  was  absolutely  still,  there  was  no  wind.  The 
only  sound  was  the  falling  of  the  low  waves  upon  the 
stony  beach  and  the  faint  scrunching  of  the  peb- 
bles drawn  back  by  the  ebb.  He  looked  along  the 
row  of  windows,  all  dark  and  silent  now.  A  rush  of 
pleasant  fancies  suddenly  chased  away  the  grim  de- 
pression of  the  last  few  minutes.  Out  of  all  this  sor- 
didness  and  mystery  there  remained  at  least  some- 
thing in  life  for  him  to  do.  A  certain  aimlessness 
of  purpose  which  had  troubled  him  during  the  last 
few  months  had  disappeared.  He  had  found  an  ob- 
ject in  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  To-day,"  Hamel  declared,  as  he  stood  at  the 
sideboard  the  following  morning  at  breakfast-time 
and  helped  himself  to  bacon  and  eggs,  "  I  am  posi- 
tively going  to  begin  reading.  I  have  a  case  full  of 
books  down  at  the  Tower  which  I  haven't  unpacked 

yet." 

Esther  made  a  little  grimace. 

"  Look  at  the  sunshine,"  she  said.  "  There  isn't 
a  breath  of  wind,  either.  I  think  to-day  that  I  could 
play  from  the  men's  tees." 

Hamel  sighed  as  he  returned  to  his  place. 

"  My  good  intentions  are  already  half  dissipated," 
he  admitted. 

She  laughed. 

"  How  can  we  attack  the  other  half  ?  "  she  asked. 

Gerald,  who  was  also  on  his  way  to  the  sideboard, 
suddenly  stopped. 

"  Hullo !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. "  Who's  going  away  this  morning,  I  wonder? 
There's  the  Rolls-Royce  at  the  door." 

Hamel,  too,  rose  once  more  to  his  feet.  The  two 
exchanged  swift  glances.  Moved  by  a  common 
thought,  they  both  started  for  the  door,  only  to  find 
it  suddenly  opened  before  them.  Mr.  Fentolin  glided 
into  the  room. 

"  Uncle !  "  Gerald  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Fentolin  glanced  keenly  around  the  room. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      195 

"  Good  morning,  everybody,"  he  said.  "  My  ap- 
pearance at  this  hour  of  the  morning  naturally  sur- 
prises you.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  been  up  for 
quite  a  long  time.  Esther  dear,  give  me  some  coffee, 
will  you,  and  be  sure  that  it  is  hot.  If  any  of  you 
want  to  say  good-by  to  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster,  you'd 
better  hurry  out." 

"  You  mean  that  he  is  going?  "  Hamel  asked  in- 
credulously. 

"  He  is  going,"  Mr.  Fentolin  admitted.  "  I  wash 
my  hands  of  the  man.  He  has  given  us  an  infinite 
amount  of  trouble,  has  monopolised  Doctor  Sarson 
when  he  ought  to  have  been  attending  upon  me  — 
a  little  more  hot  milk,  if  you  please,  Esther  —  and 
now,  although  he  really  is  not  fit  to  leave  his  room, 
he  insists  upon  hurrying  off  to  keep  an  appointment 
somewhere  on  the  Continent.  The  little  operation 
we  spoke  of  last  night  was  successful,  as  Doctor  Sar- 
son prophesied,  and  Mr.  Dunster  was  quite  con- 
scious and  able  to  sit  up  early  this  morning.  We 
telephoned  at  six  o'clock  to  Norwich  for  a  surgeon, 
who  is  now  on  his  way  over  here,  but  he  will  not  wait 
even  to  see  him.  What  can  you  do  with  a  man  so 
obstinate !  " 

Neither  Hamel  nor  Gerald  had  resumed  their  places. 
The  former,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  turned  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  should  like  to  see  the 
last  of  Mr.  Dunster." 

"  Pray  do,"  Mr.  Fentolin  begged.  "  I  have  said 
good-by  to  him  myself,  and  all  that  I  hope  is  that 
next  time  you  offer  a  wayfarer  the  hospitality  of 
St.  David's  Hall,  Gerald,  he  may  be  a  more  trac- 


i96      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

table  person.  This  morning  I  shall  give  myself  a 
treat.  I  shall  eat  an  old-fashioned  English  breakfast. 
Close  the  door  after  you,  if  you  please,  Gerald." 

Hamel,  with  Gerald  by  his  side,  hurried  out  into 
the  hall.  Just  as  they  crossed  the  threshold  they 
saw  Mr.  Dunster,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  his 
long  ulster,  a  soft  hat  upon  his  head  and  one  of  Mr. 
Fentolin's  cigars  in  his  mouth,  step  from  the  bottom 
stair  into  the  hall  and  make  his  way  with  somewhat 
uncertain  footsteps  towards  the  front  door.  Doc- 
tor Sarson  walked  on  one  side,  and  Meekins  held  him 
by  the  arm.  He  glanced  towards  Gerald  and  his 
companion  and  waved  the  hand  which  held  his  cigar. 

"  So  long,  my  young  friend ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  You  see,  I've  got  them  to  let  me  make  a  start. 
Next  time  we  go  about  the  country  in  a  saloon  car 
together,  I  hope  we'll  have  better  luck.  Say,  but 
I'm  groggy  about  the  knees !  " 

"  You'd  better  save  your  breath,"  Doctor  Sarson 
advised  him  grimly.  "  You  haven't  any  to  spare 
now,  and  you'll  want  more  than  you  have  before  you 
get  to  the  end  of  your  journey.  Carefully  down  the 
steps,  mind." 

They  helped  him  into  the  car.  Hamel  and  Gerald 
stood  under  the  great  stone  portico,  watching. 

"Well,  I'm  jiggered!"  the  boy  exclaimed,  under 
his  breath. 

Hamel  was  watching  the  proceedings  with  a  puzzled 
frown.  To  his  surprise,  neither  Doctor  Sarson  nor 
Meekins  were  accompanying  the  departing  man. 

*'  He's  off,  right  enough,"  Hamel  declared,  as  the 
car  glided  away.  "  Do  you  understand  it  ?  I  don't." 

Gerald  did  not  speak  for  several  moments.     His 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      197 

eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  the  back  of  the  disappearing 
car.  Then  he  turned  towards  Hamel. 

"  There  isn't  much,"  he  said  softly,  "  that  Mr. 
Fentolin  doesn't  know.  If  that  detective  was  really 
on  his  way  here,  there  wasn't  any  chance  of  keeping 
Mr.  Dunster  to  himself.  You  see,  the  whole  story 
is  common  property.  And  yet,  there's  something 
about  the  affair  that  bothers  me." 

"  And  me,"  Hamel  admitted,  watching  the  car  until 
it  became  a  speck  in  the  distance. 

"  He  was  fairly  well  cornered,"  Gerald  concluded, 
as  they  made  their  way  back  to  the  dining-room, 
"  but  it  isn't  like  him  to  let  go  of  anything  so 
easily." 

"  So  you've  seen  the  last  of  our  guest,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin remarked,  as  Hamel  and  Gerald  re-entered  the 
dining-room.  "  A  queer  fellow  —  almost  a  new  type 
to  me.  Dogged  and  industrious,  I  should  think.  He 
hadn't  the  least  right  to  travel,  you  know,  and  I 
think  so  long  as  we  had  taken  the  trouble  to  telephone 
to  Norwich,  he  might  have  waited  to  see  the  physi- 
cian. Sarson  was  very  angry  about  it,  but  what  can 
you  do  with  these  fellows  who  are  never  ill?  They 
scarcely  know  what  physical  disability  means.  Well, 
Mr.  Hamel,  and  how  are  you  going  to  amuse  your- 
self to-day?" 

"  I  had  thought  of  commencing  some  reading  I 
brought  with  me,"  Hamel  replied,  "  but  Miss  Esther 
has  challenged  me  to  another  game  of  golf." 

"  Excellent !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  declared.  "  It  is  very 
kind  of  you  indeed,  Mr.  Hamel.  It  is  always  a  matter 
of  regret  for  me  that  society  in  these  parts  is  so  re- 
stricted. My  nephew  and  niece  have  little  oppor- 


ig8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

tunity  for  enjoying  themselves.  Play  golf  with  Mr. 
Hamel,  by  all  means,  my  dear  child,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  his  niece.  "  Make  the  most  of  this  glo- 
rious spring  weather.  And  what  about  you,  Gerald  r 
What  are  you  doing  to-day?  " 

"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet,  sir,"  the  boy 
replied. 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  Always  that  lack  of  initiative,"  he  remarked. 
"  A  lack  of  initiative  is  one  of  your  worst  faults,  I 
am  afraid,  dear  Gerald." 

The  boy  looked  up  quickly.  For  a  moment  it 
seemed  as  though  he  were  about  to  make  a  fierce  re- 
ply. He  met  Mr.  Fentolin's  steady  gaze,  however, 
and  the  words  died  away  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  rather  thought,"  he  said,  "  of  going  into  Nor- 
wich, if  you  could  spare  me.  Captain  Holt  has  asked, 
me  to  lunch  at  the  Barracks." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  gently. 

"  It  is  most  unfortunate,"  he  declared.  "  I  have 
a  commission  for  you  later  in  the  day." 

Gerald  continued  his  breakfast  in  silence.  He  bent 
over  his  plate  so  that  his  face  was  almost  invisible. 
Mr.  Fentolin  was  peeling  a  peach.  A  servant  entered 
the  room. 

"  Lieutenant  Godfrey,  sir,"  he  announced. 

They  all  looked  up.  A  trim,  clean-shaven,  hard- 
featured  young  man  in  naval  uniform  was  standing 
upon  the  threshold.  He  bowed  to  Esther. 

"  Very  sorry  to  intrude,  sir,  at  this  hour  of  the 
morning,"  he  said  briskly.  "  Lieutenant  Godfrey, 
my  name.  I  am  flag  lieutenant  of  the  Britannia, 
You  can't  see  her,  but  she's  not  fifty  miles  off  at  this 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      199 

minute.  I  landed  at  Sheringham  this  morning,  hired 
a  car  and  made  the  best  of  my  way  here.  Message 
from  the  Admiral,  sir." 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  genially. 

"  We  are  delighted  to  see  you,  Lieutenant  God- 
frey," he  said.  "  Have  some  breakfast." 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir,"  the  officer  answered. 
"  Business  first.  I'll  breakfast  afterwards,  with 
pleasure,  if  I  may.  The  Admiral's  compliments,  and 
he  would  take  it  as  a  favour  if  you  would  haul  down 
your  wireless  for  a  few  days." 

"  Haul  down  my  wireless,"  Mr.  Fentolin  repeated 
slowly. 

"  We  are  doing  a  lot  of  manoeuvring  within  range 
of  you,  and  likely  to  do  a  bit  more,"  the  young  man 
explained.  "  You  are  catching  up  our  messages  all 
the  time.  Of  course,  we  know  they're  quite  safe  with 
you,  but  things  get  about.  As  yours  is  only  a 
private  installation,  we'd  like  you,  if  you  don't  mind, 
sir,  to  shut  up  shop  for  a  few  days." 

Mr.  Fentolin  seemed  puzzled, 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  he  protested,  "  we  are  not  at 
war,  are  we?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  the  young  officer  replied,  "  but  God 
knows  when  we  shall  be!  We  are  under  sealed  or- 
ders, anyway,  and  we  don't  want  any  risk  of  our 
plans  leaking  out.  That's  why  we  want  your  wire- 
less disconnected." 

"  You  need  say  no  more,"  Mr.  Fentolin  assured 
him.  "  The  matter  is  already  arranged.  Esther, 
let  me  present  Lieutenant  Godfrey  —  my  niece,  Miss 
Fentolin;  Mr.  Gerald  Fentolin,  my  nephew;  Mr. 
Hamel,  a  guest.  See  that  Lieutenant  Godfrey  has 


200      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

some  breakfast,  Gerald.     I  will  go  myself  and  see 
my  Marconi  operator." 

"  Awfully  good  of  you,  sir,"  the  young  man  de« 
clared,  "  and  I  am  sure  we  are  very  sorry  to  trouble 
you.  In  a  week  or  two's  time  you  can  go  into  busi- 
ness again  as  much  as  you  like.  It's  only  while  we 
are  fiddling  around  here  that  the  Admiral's  jumpy 
about  things.  May  my  man  have  a  cup  of  coffee, 
sir?  I'd  like  to  be  on  the  way  back  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour." 

Mr.  Fentolin  halted  his  chair  by  the  side  of  the 
bell,  and  rang  it. 

"  Pray  make  use  of  my  house  as  your  own,  sir," 
he  said  gravely.  "  From  what  you  leave  unsaid,  I 
gather  that  things  are  more  serious  than  the  papers 
would  have  us  believe.  Under  those  circumstances, 
I  need  not  assure  you  that  any  help  we  can  render 
is  entirely  yours." 

Mr.  Fentolin  left  the  room.  Lieutenant  Godfrey 
was  already  attacking  his  breakfast.  Gerald  leaned 
towards  him  eagerly. 

"  Is  there  really  going  to  be  war? "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Ask  those  chaps  at  The  Hague,"  Lieutenant 
Godfrey  answered.  "-Doing  their  best  to  freeze  us 
out,  or  something.  All  I  know  is,  if  there's  going  to 
be  fighting,  we  are  ready  for  them.  By-the-by,  what 
have  you  got  wireless  telegraphy  for  here,  any- 
way ?  " 

"  It's  a  fad  of  my  uncle's,"  Gerald  replied. 
"  Since  his  accident  he  amuses  himself  in  all  sorts  of 
queer  ways." 

Lieutenant  Godfrey  nodded. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      201 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  he  said.  "  I  heard  he  was  a 
cripple,  or  something  of  the  sort.  Forgive  my  ask- 
ing, but  —  you  people  are  English,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Rather ! "  Gerald  answered.  "  The  Fentolins 
have  lived  here  for  hundreds  of  years.  Why  do 
you  ask  that  ?  " 

Lieutenant  Godfrey  hesitated.  He  looked,  for  the 
moment,  scarcely  at  his  ease. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  The  old  man 
was  very  anxious  I  should  find  out.  You  see,  a  lot 
of  information  seems  to  have  got  over  on  the  other 
side,  and  we  couldn't  think  where  it  had  leaked  out, 
except  through  your  wireless.  However,  that  isn't 
likely,  of  course,  unless  you've  got  one  of  these  beastly 
Germans  in  your  receiving-room.  Now  if  I  can  bor- 
row a  cigarette,  a  cigar,  or  a  pipe  of  tobacco  —  any 
mortal  thing  to  smoke  —  I'll  be  off,  if  I  may.  The 
old  man  turned  me  out  at  an  unearthly  hour  this 
morning,  and  in  Sheringham  all  the  shops  were  closed. 
Steady  on,  young  fellow,"  he  laughed,  as  Gerald 
filled  his  pockets  with  cigarettes.  "  Well,  here's 
good  morning  to  you,  Miss  Fentolin.  Good  morn- 
ing, sir.  How  long  ought  it  to  take  me  to  get  to 
Sheringham?  " 

"  About  forty  minutes,"  Gerald  told  him,  "  if  your 
car's  any  good  at  all."  , ' 

"  It  isn't  much,"  was  the  somewhat  dubious  re- 
ply. "  However,  we'll  shove  along.  You  in  the 
Service  ?  "  he  enquired,  as  they  walked  down  the  hall 
together. 

"  Hope  I  shall  be  before  long,"  Gerald  answered. 
"  I'm  going  into  the  army,  though." 

"  Have  to  hurry  up,  won't  you  ?  " 


202      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Gerald  sighed. 

"  It's  a  little  difficult  for  me.     Here's  your  car. 
Good  luck  to  you ! " 

"  My  excuses  to  Mr.  Fentolin,"  Lieutenant  God- 
frey snouted,  "  and  many  thanks." 

He  jumped  into  the  automobile  and  was  soon  on 
his  way  back.  Gerald  watched  him  until  he  was 
nearly  out  of  sight.  On  the  knoll,  two  of  the  wireless 
operators  were  already  at  work.  Mr.  Fentolin  sat 
in  his  chair  below,  watching.  The  blue  sparks  were 
flashing.  A  message  was  just  being  delivered.  Pres- 
ently Mr.  Fentolin  turned  his  chair,  and  with  Meekins 
by  his  side,  made  his  way  back  to  the  house.  He 
passed  along  the  hall  and  into  his  study.  Gerald, 
who  was  on  his  way  to  the  dining-room,  heard  the  ring 
of  the  telephone  bell  and  the  call  for  the  trunk  spe- 
cial line.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  he  made 
h\s  way  slowly  down  towards  the  study  and  stood 
outside  the  door,  listening.  In  a  moment  he  heard 
Mr.  Fentolin's  clear  voice,  very  low  yet  very  pene- 
trating. 

"  The  Mediterranean  Fleet  will  be  forty-seven 
hours  before  it  comes  together,"  was  the  message  he 
heard.  "  The  Channel  Fleet  will  manoeuvre  off 
Sheerness,  waiting  for  it.  The  North  Sea  Fleet  is 
seventeen  units  under  nominal  strength." 

Gerald  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  slowly  and 
entered.  Mr.  Fentolin  was  just  replacing  the  re- 
ceiver on  its  stand.  He  looked  up  at  his  nephew, 
and  his  eyebrows  came  together. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this  ? "  he  demanded. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  I  allow  no  one  in  here  when 
I  am  telephoning  on  the  private  wire?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      203 

Gerald  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  summoned 
up  all  his  courage. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  heard  what  you  were  say- 
ing over  the  telephone  that  I  am  here,"  he  declared. 
"  I  want  to  know  to  whom  you  were  sending  that 
message  which  you  have  intercepted  outside." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  for  a  moment  in  his  chair  with 
immovable  face.  Then  he  pointed  to  the  door,  which 
Gerald  had  left  open  behind  him. 

"  Close  that  door,  Gerald." 

The  boy  obeyed.  Mr.  Fentolin  waited  until  he 
had  turned  around  again. 

"  Come  and  stand  over  here  by  the  side  of  the  ta- 
ble," he  directed. 

Gerald  came  without  hesitation.  He  stood  before 
his  uncle  with  folded  arms.  There  was  something 
else  besides  sullenness  in  his  face  this  morning,  some- 
thing which  Mr.  Fentolin  was  quick  to  recognise. 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  the  nature  of  your 
question,  Gerald,"  Mr.  Fentolin  began.  "  It  is  un- 
like you.  You  do  not  seem  yourself.  Is  there  any- 
thing in  particular  the  matter?  " 

"  Only  this,"  Gerald  answered  firmly.  "  I  don't 
understand  why  this  naval  fellow  should  come  here 
and  ask  you  to  close  up  your  wireless  because  secrets 
have  been  leaking  out,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards 
you  should  be  picking  up  a  message  and  telephoning 
to  London  information  which  was  surely  meant  to  be 
private.  That's  all.  I've  come  to  ask  you  about  it." 

"  You  heard  the  message,  then  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  You  listened  —  at  the  keyhole?  " 

"I  listened  outside,"   Gerald  assented   doggedly. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      205 

"  I  am  glad  I  listened.  Do  you  mind  answering  my 
question  ?  " 

"  Do  I  mind ! "  Mr.  Fentolin  repeated  softly. 
"  Really,  Gerald,  your  politeness,  your  consideration, 
your  good  manners,  astound  me.  I  am  positively  de- 
prived of  the  power  of  speech." 

"  I'll  wait  here  till  it  comes  to  you  again,  then," 
the  boy  declared  bluntly.  "  I've  waited  on  you  hand 
and  foot,  done  dirty  work  for  you,  put  up  with  your 
ill-humours  and  your  tyranny,  and  never  grumbled. 
But  there  is  a  limit!  You've  made  a  poor  sort  of 
creature  of  me,  but  even  the  worm  turns,  you  know. 
When  it  comes  to  giving  away  secrets  about  the  move- 
ments of  our  navy  at  a  time  when  we  are  almost  at 
war,  I  strike." 

"  Melodramatic,  almost  dramatic,  but,  alas !  so  in- 
accurate," Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  "  Is  this  a  fit  of 
the  heroics,  boy,  or  what  has  come  over  you?  Have 
you  by  any  chance  —  forgotten?" 

Mr.  Fentolin's  voice  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
grown  in  volume.  His  eyes  dilated,  he  himself 
seemed  to  have  grown  in  size.  Gerald  stepped  a 
little  back.  He  was  trembling,  but  his  expression 
had  not  changed. 

"  No,  I  haven't  forgotten.  There's  a  great  debt 
we  are  doing  our  best  to  pay,  but  there's  such  a 
thing  as  asking  too  much,  there's  such  a  thing  as 
drawing  the  cords  to  snapping  point.  I'm  speak- 
ing for  Esther  and  mother  as  well  as  myself.  We 
have  been  your  slaves ;  in  a  way  I  suppose  we  are 
willing  to  go  on  being  your  slaves.  It's  the  burden 
that  Fate  has  placed  around  our  necks,  and  we'll 
go  through  with  it.  All  I  want  to  point  out  is  that 


206      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

there  are  limits,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  up 
against  them  now." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man 
who  wishes  to  be  reasonable. 

"  You  are  very  young,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  very 
young  indeed.  Perhaps  that  is  my  fault  for  not 
having  let  you  see  more  of  the  world.  You  have  got 
some  very  queer  ideas  into  your  head.  A  little  too 
much  novel  reading  lately,  eh?  I  might  treat  you 
differently.  I  might  laugh  at  you  and  send  you 
out  of  the  room.  I  won't.  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
ask.  I'll  explain  what  you  find  so  mysterious.  The 
person  to  whom  I  have  been  speaking  is  my  stock- 
broker." 

"  Your  stockbroker !  "  Gerald  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  Mr.  Bayliss,"  he  continued,  "  of  the  firm  of  Bay- 
liss,  Hundercombe  &  Dunn,  Throgmorton  Court. 
Mr.  Bayliss  is  a  man  of  keen  perceptions.  He  un- 
derstands exactly  the  effect  of  certain  classes  of 
news  upon  the  market.  The  message  which  I  have 
just  sent  to  him  is  practically  common  property. 
It  will  be  in  the  Daily  Mail  to-morrow  morning. 
The  only  thing  is  that  I  have  sent  it  to  him  just  a 
few  minutes  sooner  than  any  one  else  can  get  it. 
There  is  a  good  deal  of  value  in  that,  Gerald.  I  do 
not  mind  telling  you  that  I  have  made  a  large  for- 
tune through  studying  the  political  situation  and 
securing  advance  information  upon  matters  of  this 
sort.  That  fortune  some  day  will  probably  be  yours. 
It  will  be  you  who  will  benefit.  Meanwhile,  I  am 
enriching  myself  and  doing  no  one  any  harm." 

"  But  how  do  you  know,"  Gerald  persisted,  "  that 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      207 

this  message  would  ever  have  found  its  way  to  the 
Press?  It  was  simply  a  message  from  one  battle- 
ship to  another.  It  was  not  intended  to  be  picked 
up  on  land.  There  is  no  other  installation  but 
ours  that  could  have  picked  it  up.  Besides,  it  was 
in  code.  I  know  that  you  have  the  code,  but  the 
others  haven't." 

Mr.  Fentolin  yawned  slightly. 

"  Ingenious,  my  dear  Gerald,  but  inaccurate. 
You  do  not  know  that  the  message  was  in  code,  and 
in  any  case  it  was  liable  to  be  picked  up  by  any 
steamer  within  the  circle.  You  really  do  treat  me, 
my  boy,  rather  as  though  I  were  a  weird,  mischief- 
making  person  with  a  talent  for  intrigue  and  crime 
of  every  sort.  Look  at  your  suspicions  last  night. 
I  believe  that  you  and  Mr.  Hamel  had  quite  made 
up  your  minds  that  I  meant  evil  things  for  Mr.  John 
P.  Dunster.  Well,  I  had  my  chance.  You  saw  him 
depart." 

"  What  about  his  papers  ?  " 

"I  wiU  admit,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied,  "that  I 
read  his  papers.  They  were  of  no  great  conse- 
quence, however,  and  he  has  taken  them  away  with 
him.  Mr.  Dunster.  as  a  matter  of  fact,  turned 
out  to  be  rather  a  mare's-nest.  Now,  come,  since 
you  are  here,  finish  everything  you  have  to  say  to 
me.  I  am  not  angry.  I  am  willing  to  listen  quite 
reasonably." 

Gerald  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  I  can't!"  he  declared  bitterly.  "You  al- 
ways get  the  best  of  it.  I'll  only  ask  you  one  more 
question.  Are  you  having  the  wireless  hauled 
down?" 


208      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Mr.  Fentolin  pointed  out  of  the  window.  Gerald 
followed  his  finger.  Three  men  were  at  work  upon 
the  towering  spars. 

"  You  see,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued  tolerantly, 
"  that  I  am  keeping  my  word  to  Lieutenant  Godfrey. 
You  are  suffering  from  a  little  too  much  imagina- 
tion, I  am  afraid.  It  is  really  quite  a  good  fault. 
By-the-by,  how  do  you  get  on  with  our  friend  Mr. 
Hamel?  " 

"  Very  well,"  the  boy  replied.  "  I  haven't  seen 
much  of  him." 

"  He  and  Esther  are  together  a  great  deal,  eh  ?  " 
Mr.  Fentolin  asked  quickly. 

"  They  seem  to  be  quite  friendly." 

"  It  isn't  Mr.  Hamel,  by  any  chance,  who  has  been 
putting  these  ideas  into  your  head?" 

"  No  one  has  been  putting  any  ideas  into  my  head," 
Gerald  answered  hotly.  "  It's  simply  what  I've  seen 
and  overheard.  It's  simply  what  I  feel  around,  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  place,  the  whole  atmosphere 
you  seem  to  create  around  you  with  these  brutes 
Sarson  and  Meekins ;  and  those  white-faced,  smooth- 
tongued Marconi  men  of  yours,  who  can't  talk  de- 
cent English ;  and  the  post-office  man,  who  can't  look 
you  in  the  face ;  and  Miss  Price,  who  looks  as  though 
she  were  one  of  the  creatures,  too,  of  your  torture 
chamber.  That's  all." 

Mr.  Fentolin  waited  until  he  had  finished.  Then 
he  waved  him  away. 

"  Go  and  take  a  long  walk,  Gerald,"  he  advised. 
"  Fresh  air  is  what  you  need,  fresh  air  and  a  little 
vigorous  exercise.  Run  along  now  and  send  Miss 
Price  to  me." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      209 

Gerald  overtook  Hamel  upon  the  stairs. 

"  By  this  time,"  the  latter  remarked,  "  I  suppose 
that  our  friend  Mr.  Dunster  is  upon  the  sea." 

Gerald  nodded  silently.  They  passed  along  the 
corridor.  The  door  of  the  room  which  Mr.  Dun- 
ster had  occupied  was  ajar.  As  though  by  common 
consent,  they  both  stopped  and  looked  in.  The 
windows  were  all  wide  open,  the  bed  freshly  made. 
The  nurse  was  busy  collecting  some  medicine  bottles 
and  fragments  of  lint.  She  looked  at  them  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Mr.  Dunster  has  left,  sir,"  she  told  them. 

"  We  saw  him  go,"  Gerald  replied. 

"Rather  a  quick  recovery,  wasn't  it,  nurse?" 
Hamel  asked. 

"  It  wasn't  a  recovery  at  all,  sir,"  the  woman  de- 
clared sharply.  "  He'd  no  right  to  have  been  taken 
away.  It's  my  opinion  Doctor  Sarson  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself  to  have  permitted  it." 

"  They  couldn't  exactly  make  a  prison  of  the 
place,  could  they  ?  "  Hamel  pointed  out.  "  The  man, 
after  all,  was  only  a  guest." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,  sir,"  the  nurse  replied. 
"  All  the  same,  those  that  won't  obey  their  doctors 
aren't  fit  to  be  allowed  about  alone.  That's  the  way 
I  look  at  it." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  was  passing  along  the  corridor  as 
they  issued  from  the  room.  She  started  a  little  as 
she  saw  them. 

"  What  have  you  two  been  doing  in  there  ?  "  she 
asked  quickly. 

"  We  were  just  passing,"  Hamel  explained. 
"  We  stopped  for  a  moment  to  speak  to  the  nurse." 


210      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Mr.  Dunster  has  gone,"  she  said.  "  You  saw 
him  go,  Gerald.  You  saw  him,  too,  didn't  you,  Mr. 
Hamel?  " 

"  I  certainly  did,"  Hamel  admitted. 

Mrs.  Fentolin  pointed  to  the  great  north  window 
near  which  they  were  standing,  through  which  the 
clear  sunlight  streamed  a  little  pitilessly  upon  her 
worn  face  and  mass  of  dyed  hair. 

"  You  ought  neither  of  you  to  be  indoors  for  a 
minute  on  a  morning  like  this,"  she  declared.  "  Es- 
ther is  waiting  for  you  in  the  car,  I  think,  Mr. 
Hamel." 

Gerald  passed  on  up  the  stairs  to  his  room,  but 
Hamel  lingered.  A  curious  impulse  of  pity  towards 
his  hostess  stirred  him.  The  morning  sunlight 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  revealed  the  tragedy  of 
her  life.  She  stood  there,  a  tired,  worn  woman,  with 
the  burden  heavy  upon  her  shoulders. 

"  Why  not  come  out  with  Miss  Fentolin  and  me?  " 
he  suggested.  "  We  could  lunch  at  the  Golf  Club, 
out  on  the  balcony.  I  wish  you  would.  Can't  you 
manage  it?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin does  not  like  to  be  left." 

Something  in  the  finality  of  her  words  seemed  to 
him  curiously  eloquent  of  her  state  of  mind.  She 
did  not  move  on.  She  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  the 
air  of  one  anxious  to  say  more.  In  that  ruthless 
light,  the  advantages  of  her  elegant  clothes  and 
graceful  carriage  were  suddenly  stripped  away  from 
her.  She  was  the  abject  wreck  of  a  beautiful  woman, 
wizened,  prematurely  aged.  Nothing  remained  but 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      211 

the  eyes,  which  seemed  somehow  to  have  their  mes- 
sage for  him. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  is  a  little  peculiar,  you  know,"  she 
went  on,  her  voice  shaking  slightly  with  the  effort 
she  was  making  to  keep  it  low.  "  He  allows  Esther 
so  little  liberty,  she  sees  so  few  young  people  of  her 
own  age.  I  do  not  know  why  he  allows  you  to  be 
with  her  so  much.  Be  careful,  Mr.  Hamel." 

Her  voice  seemed  suddenly  to  vibrate  with  a  curious 
note  of  suppressed  fear.  Almost  as  she  finished  her 
speech,  she  passed  on.  Her  little  gesture  bade  him 
remain  silent.  As  she  went  up  the  stairs,  she  be- 
gan to  hum  scraps  of  a  little  French  air. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Hamel  sliced  his  ball  at  the  ninth,  and  after  wait- 
ing for  a  few  minutes  patientty,  Esther  came  to  help 
him  look  for  it.  He  was  standing  down  on  the  sands. 
a  little  apart  from  the  two  caddies  who  were  beat- 
ing out  various  tufts  of  long  grass. 

"  Where  did  it  go?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  no  idea,'*  he  admitted. 

"Why  don't  you  help  look  for  it?  " 

"  Searching  for  balls,"  he  insisted,  "  is  a  caddy's 
occupation.  Both  the  caddies  are  now  busy.  Let 
us  sit  down  here.  These  sand  hummocks  are  de- 
lightful. It  is  perfectly  sheltered,  and  the  sun  is 
in  our  faces.  Golf  is  an  overrated  pastime.  Let  us 
sit  and  watch  that  little  streak  of  blue  find  its  way 
up  between  the  white  posts." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  We  shall  lose  our  place." 

"  There  is  no  one  behind." 

She  sank  on  to  the  little  knoll  of  sand  to  which 
he  had  pointed,  with  a  resigned  sigh. 

''  You  really  are  a  queer  person,"  she  declared. 
''  You  have  been  playing  golf  this  morning  as  though 
your  very  life  depended  upon  it.  You  have  scarcely . 
missed  a  shot  or  spoken  a  word.  And  now,  all  of 
a  sudden,  you  want  to  sit  on  a  sand  hummock  and 
watch  the  tide." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      213 

"  I  have  been  silent,"  he  told  her,  "  because  I  have 
been  thinking." 

"  That  may  be  truthful,"  she  remarked,  "  but  you 
wouldn't  call  it  polite,  would  you  ?  " 

"  The  subject  of  my  thoughts  is  my  excuse.  I 
have  been  thinking  of  you." 

For  a  single  moment  her  eyes  seemed  to  have 
caught  something  of  that  sympathetic  light  with 
which  he  was  regarding  her.  Then  she  looked  away. 

"  Was  it  my  mashie  shots  you  were  worrying 
about?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  was  not,"  he  replied  simply.  "  It  was  you  — 
you  yourself." 

She  laughed,  not  altogether  naturally. 

"  How  flattering !  "  she  murmured.  "  By-the-by, 
you  are  rather  a  downright  person,  aren't  you,  Mr. 
Hamel?" 

"  So  much  so,"  he  admitted,  "  that  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  one  or  two  things  now.  I  am  going  to  be 
very  frank  indeed." 

She  sat  suddenly  quite  still.  Her  face  was  turned 
from  him,  but  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  known 
her  there  was  a  slight  undertone  of  colour  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  A  week  ago,"  he  said,  "  I  hadn't  the  faintest 
idea  of  coming  into  Norfolk.  I  knew  about  this 
little  shanty  of  my  father's,  but  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it.  I  came  as  the  result  of  a  conversation  I 
had  with  a  friend  who  is  in  the  Foreign  Office." 

She  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  You 
are  Mr.  Hamel,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied.     "  Not  only  am  I  Richard 


214      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Hamcl,  mining  engineer,  but  I  really  have  all  that 
reading  to  do  I  have  spoken  about,  and  I  really  was 
looking  for  a  quiet  spot  to  do  it  in.  It  is  true  that 
I  had  this  part  of  the  world  in  my  mind,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  I  should  ever  have  really  decided  to  come 
here  if  it  had  not  been  for  my  friend  in  London. 
He  was  very  interested  indeed  directly  I  mentioned 
St.  David's  Tower.  Would  you  like  to  know  what 
he  told  me?" 

"  Yes !     Go  on,  please." 

"  He  told  me  a  little  of  the  history  of  your  uncle, 
Mr.  Fentolin,  and  what  he  did  not  tell  me  at  the 
time,  he  has  since  supplemented.  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  hesitatingly,  "  that  you  yourself  — " 

"  Please  go  on.  Please  speak  as  though  I  knew 
nething." 

"  Well,  then,"  Hamel  continued,  "  he  told  me  that 
your  uncle  was  at  one  time  in  the  Foreign  Office 
himself.  He  seemed  to  have  a  most  brilliant  career 
before  him  when  suddenly  there  was  a  terrible  scan- 
dal. A  political  secret  —  I  don't  know  what  it  was 
—  had  leaked  out.  There  were  rumours  that  it  had 
been  acquired  for  a  large  sum  of  money  by  a  foreign 
Power.  Mr.  Fentolin  retired  to  Norfolk,  pending 
an  investigation.  It  was  just  as  that  time  that  he 
met  with  his  terrible  accident,  and  the  matter  was 
dropped." 

"  Go  on,  please,"  she  murmured. 

"  My  friend  went  on  to  say  that  during  the  last 
few  years  Mr.  Fentolin  has  once  again  become  an 
object  of  some  suspicion  to  the  head  of  our  Secret 
Service  Department.  For  a  long  time  they  have 
known  that  he  was  employing  agents  abroad,  and 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      215 

that  he  was  showing  the  liveliest  interest  in  under- 
ground politics.  They  believed  that  it  was  a  mere 
hobby,  born  of  his  useless  condition,  a  taste  min- 
istered to,  without  doubt,  by  the  occupation  of  his 
earlier  life.  Once  or  twice  lately  they  have  had 
reason  to  change  their  minds.  You  know,  I  dare 
say,  in  what  a  terribly  disturbed  state  European 
affairs  are  just  now.  Well,  my  friend  had  an  idea 
that  Mr.  Fentolin  was  showing  an  extraordinary 
amount  of  interest  in  a  certain  conference  which  we 
understand  is  to  take  place  at  The  Hague.  He 
begged  me  to  come  down,  and  to  watch  your  uncle 
while  I  was  down  here,  and  report  to  him  anything 
that  seemed  to  me  noteworthy.  Since  then  I  have 
had  a  message  from  him  concerning  the  American 
whom  you  entertained  —  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster.  It 
appears  that  he  was  the  bearer  of  very  important 
dispatches  for  the  Continent." 

"  But  he  has  gone,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Nothing 
happened  to  him,  after  all.  He  went  away  without 
a  word  of  complaint.  We  all  saw  him." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  Hamel  admitted.  "Mr. 
Dunster  has  certainly  gone.  It  is  rather  a  coin- 
cidence, however,  that  he  should  have  taken  his  de- 
parture just  as  the  enquiries  concerning  his  where- 
abouts had  reached  such  a  stage  that  it  had  become 
quite  impossible  to  keep  him  concealed  any  longer." 

She  turned  a  little  in  her  place  and  looked  at 
him  steadfastly. 

"  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  —  what  of  your 
mission?  You  have  had  an  opportunity  of  studying 
my  uncle.  You  have  even  lived  under  his  roof. 
Tell  me  what  you  think." 


216      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

His  face  was  troubled. 

"  Miss  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  frankly 
that  up  to  now  I  have  not  succeeded  in  solving  the 
problem  of  your  uncle's  character.  To  me  per- 
sonally he  has  been  most  courteous.  He  lives  ap- 
parently a  studious  and  an  unselfish  life.  I  have 
heard  him  even  spoken  of  as  a  philanthropist.  And 
yet  you  three  —  you,  your  mother,  and  your  brother, 
who  are  nearest  to  him,  who  live  in  his  house  and 
under  his  protection,  have  the  air  of  passing  your 
days  in  mortal  fear  of  him." 

"  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  exclaimed  nervously,  "  you 
don't  believe  that!  He  is  always  very  kind." 

"  Apparently,"  Hamel  observed  drily.  "  And  yet 
you  must  remember  that  you,  too,  are  afraid  of  him. 
I  need  not  remind  you  of  our  conversations,  but 
there  the  truth  is.  You  praise  his  virtues  and  his 
charities,  you  pity  him,  and  yet  you  go  about  with 
a  load  of  fear,  and  —  forgive  me  —  of  secret  terror 
in  your  heart,  you  and  Gerald,  too.  As  for  your 
mother  — " 

"  Don't !  "  she  interrupted  suddenly.  "  Why  do 
you  bring  me  here  to  talk  like  this?  You  cannot 
alter  things.  Nothing  can  be  altered." 

"  Can't  it !  "  he  replied.  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you  the 
real  reason  of  my  having  brought  you  here  and  of 
my  having  made  this  confession.  I  brought  you  here 
because  I  could  not  bear  to  go  on  living,  if  not  under 
your  roof,  at  any  rate  in  the  neighbourhood,  without 
telling  you  the  truth.  Now  you  know  it.  I  am  here 
to  watch  Mr.  Fentolin.  I  am  going  on  watching 
him.  You  can  put  him  on  his  guard,  if  you  like;  I 
shan't  complain.  Or  you  can  — " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      217 

He  paused  so  long  that  she  looked  at  him.  He 
moved  a  little  closer  to  her,  his  fingers  suddenly 
gripped  her  hand. 

"  Or  you  can  marry  me  and  come  away  from  it 
all,"  he  concluded  quietly.  "  Forgive  me,  please  — 
I  mean  it." 

For  a  moment  the  startled  light  in  her  eyes  was 
followed  by  a  delicious  softness.  Her  lips  were 
parted,  she  leaned  a  little  towards  him.  Then  sud- 
denly she  seemed  to  remember.  She  rose  with  swift 
alertness  to  her  feet. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  we  had  better  play 
golf." 

"  But  I  have  asked  you  to  marry  me,"  he  pro- 
tested, as  he  scrambled  up. 

"  Your  caddy  has  found  your  ball  a  long  time 
ago,"  she  pointed  out,  walking  swiftly  on  ahead. 

He  played  his  shot  and  caught  her  up. 

"  Miss  Fentolin  —  Esther,"  he  pleaded  eagerly, 
"do  you  think  that  I  am  not  in  earnest?  Because 
I  am.  I  mean  it.  Even  if  I  have  only  known  you 
for  a  few  days,  it  has  been  enough.  I  think  that  I 
knew  it  was  coming  from  the  moment  that  you 
stepped  into  my  railway  carriage." 

"  You  knew  that  what  was  coming?  "  she  asked, 
raising  her  eyes  suddenly. 

"  That  I  should  care  for  you.'5* 

"  It's  the  first  time  you've  told  me  so,"  she  re- 
minded him,  with  a  queer  little  smile.  "  Oh,  for- 
give me,  please !  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  I  don't 
want  to  have  you  tell  me  so.  It's  all  too  ridiculous 
and  impossible." 

"Is  it?     And  why?" 


2i8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  have  only  known  you  for  three  days." 

"  We  can  make  up  for  that." 

"  But  I  don't  —  care  about  you.  I  have  never 
thought  of  any  one  in  that  way.  It  is  absurd,"  she 
went  on. 

"  You'll  have  to,  sometime  or  other,"  he  declared. 
"  I'll  take  you  travelling  with  me,  show  you  the  world, 
new  worlds,  unnamed  rivers,  untrodden  mountains. 
Or  do  you  want  to  go  and  see  where  the  little  brown 
people  live  among  the  mimosa  and  the  cherry  blos- 
soms? I'll  take  you  so  far  away  that  this  place  and 
this  life  will  seem  like  a  dream." 

Her  breath  caught  a  little. 

"  Don't,  please,"  she  begged.  "  You  know  very 
well  —  or  rather  you  don't  know,  perhaps,  but  I 
must  tell  you  —  that  I  couldn't.  I  am  here,  tied  and 
bound,  and  I  can't  escape." 

"  Ah !  dear,  don't  believe  it,"  he  went  on  earnestly. 
"  There  isn't  any  bond  so  strong  that  I  won't  break 
it  for  you,  no  knot  I  won't  untie,  if  you  give  me  the 
right." 

They  were  climbing  slowly  on  to  the  tee.  He 
stepped  forward  and  pulled  her  up.  Her  hand  was 
cold.  Her  eyes  were  raised  to  his,  very  softly  yet 
almost  pleadingly. 

"  Please  don't  say  anything  more,"  she  begged. 
"  I  can't  —  quite  bear  it  just  now.  You  know,  you 
must  remember  —  there  is  my  mother.  Do  you  think 
that  I  could  leave  her  to  struggle  alone?  " 

His  caddy,  who  had  teed  the  ball,  and  who  had  re- 
garded the  proceedings  with  a  moderately  tolerant 
air,  felt  called  upon  at  last  to  interfere. 

"  We'd  best  get  on,"  he  remarked,  pointing  to  two 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      219 

figures  in  the  distance,  "  or  they'll  say  we've  cut 
in." 

Hamel  smote  his  ball  far  and  true.  On  a  more 
moderate  scale  she  followed  his  example.  They  de- 
scended the  steps  together. 

"  Love-making  isn't  going  to  spoil  our  golf,"  he 
whispered,  smiling,  as  he  touched  her  fingers  once 
more. 

She  looked  at  him  almost  shyly. 

"  Is   this  love-making?  "  she  asked. 

They  walked  together  from  the  eighteenth  green 
towards  the  club-house.  A  curious  silence  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  enveloped  them.  Hamel  was  con- 
scious of  a  strange  exhilaration,  a  queer  upheaval 
of  ideas,  an  excitement  which  nothing  in  his  previous 
life  had  yet  been  able  to  yield  him.  The  wonder  of 
it  amazed  him,  kept  him  silent.  It  was  not  until 
they  reached  the  steps,  indeed,  that  he  spoke. 

"  On  our  way  home  — "  he  began. 

She  seemed  suddenly  to  have  stiffened.  He  looked 
at  her,  surprised.  She  was  standing  quite  still,  her 
hand  gripping  the  post,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wait- 
ing motor-car.  The  delicate  softness  had  gone  from 
her  face.  Once  more  that  look  of  partly  veiled  suf- 
fering was  there,  suffering  mingled  with  fear. 

"  Look ! "  she  whispered,  under  her  breath. 
"  Look !  It  is  Mr.  Fentolin !  He  has  come  for  us 
himself;  he  is  there  in  the  car." 

Mr.  Fentolin,  a  strange  little  figure  lying  back 
among  the  cushions  of  the  great  Daimler,  raised  his 
hat  and  waved  it  to  them. 

"  Come  along,  children,"  he  cried.  "  You  see,  I 
am  here  to  fetch  you  myself.  The  sunshine  has 


220      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

tempted  me.  What  a  heavenly  morning!  Come 
and  sit  by  my  side,  Esther,  and  fight  your  battle  all 
over  again.  That  is  one  of  the  joys  of  golf,  isn't 
it  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Hamel.  "  You  need  not 
be  afraid  of  boring  me.  To-day  is  one  of  my  bright 
days.  I  suppose  that  it  is  the  sunshine  and  the  warm 
wind.  On  the  way  here  we  passed  some  fields.  I 
could  swear  that  I  smelt  violets.  Where  are  you  go- 
ing, Esther?  " 

"  To  take  my  clubs  to  my  locker  and  pay  my 
caddy,"  she  replied. 

"  Mr.  Hamel  will  do  that  for  you,"  Mr.  Fentolin 
declared.  "  Come  and  take  your  seat  by  my  side, 
and  let  us  wait  for  him.  I  am  tired  of  being  alone." 

She  gave  up  her  clubs  reluctantly.  All  the  life 
seemed  to  have  gone  from  her  face. 

"Why  didn't  mother  come  with  you?"  she  asked 
simply. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  dear  Esther,"  he  an- 
swered, "  when  I  started,  I  had  a  fancy  to  be  alone. 
I  think  —  in  fact  I  am  sure  —  that  your  mother 
wanted  to  come.  The  sunshine,  too,  was  tempting 
her.  Perhaps  it  was  selfish  of  me  not  to  bring  her, 
but  then,  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  forgiven  me* 
isn't  there,  Esther?  " 

'*  A  great  deal,"  she  echoed,  looking  steadily  ahead 
of  her. 

"  I  came,"  he  went  on,  "  because  it  occurred  to  me 
that,  after  all,  I  had  my  duties  as  your  guardian, 
dear  Esther.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  can  permit 
flirtations,  you  know.  Let  me  see,  how  old  are 
you?" 

"  Twenty-one,"  she  replied. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      221 

"  In  a  magazine  I  was  reading  the  other  day,"  he 
continued,  "  I  was  interested  to  observe  that  the 
modern  idea  as  regards  marriage  is  a  changed  one. 
A  woman,  they  say,  should  not  marry  until  she 
is  twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight  —  a  very  excellent 
idea.  I  think  we  agree,  do  we  not,  on  that,  Esther?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  never 
thought  about  the  matter." 

"  Then,"  he  went  on,  "  we  will  make  up  our  minds 
to  agree.  Twenty-seven  or  twenty-eight,  let  us  say. 
A  very  excellent  age!  A  girl  should  know  her  own 
mind  by  then.  And  meanwhile,  dear  Esther,  would  it 
be  wise,  I  wonder,  to  see  a  little  less  of  our  friend 
Mr.  Hamel?  He  leaves  us  to-day,  I  think.  He  is 
very  obstinate  about  that.  If  he  were  staying  still 
in  the  house,  well,  it  might  be  different.  But  if  he 
persists  in  leaving  us,  you  will  not  forget,  dear, 
that  association  with  a  guest  is  one  thing;  associa- 
tion with  a  young  man  living  out  of  the  house  is  an- 
other. A  great  deal  less  of  Mr.  Hamel  I  think  that 
we  must  see." 

She  made  no  reply  whatever.  Hamel  was  coming 
now  towards  them. 

"  Really  a  very  personable  young  man,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  remarked,  studying  him  through  his  eyeglass. 
"  Is  it  my  fancy,  I  wonder,  as,  an  observant  person, 
or  is  he  just  a  little  —  just  a  little  taken  with  you, 
Esther?  A  pity  if  it  is  so  —  a  great  pity." 

She  said  nothing,  but  her  hand  which  rested  upon 
the  rug  was  trembling  a  little. 

"  If  you  have  an  opportunity,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sug- 
gested, dropping  his  voice,  "  you  might  very  del- 
icately, you  know  —  girls  are  so  clever  at  that  sort 


222      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

of  thing  —  convey  my  views  to  Mr.  Hamel  as  re^ 
gards  his  leaving  us  and  its  effect  upon  your  com- 
panionship. You  understand  me,  I  am  sure?  " 

For  the  first  time  she  turned  her  head  towards 
him. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  some 
particular  reason  for  not  wishing  Mr.  Hamel  to  leave 
St.  David's  Hall." 

He  smiled  benignly. 

"  You  do  my  hospitable  impulses  full  justice,  dear 
Esther,"  he  declared.  "  Sometimes  I  think  that  you 
understand  me  almost  as  well  as  your  dear  mother. 
If,  by  any  chance,  Mr.  Hamel  should  change  his 
mind  as  to  taking  up  his  residence  at  the  Tower,  I 
think  you  would  not  find  me  in  any  sense  of  the  word 
an  obdurate  or  exacting  guardian.  Come  along, 
Mr.  Hamel.  That  seat  opposite  to  us  is  quite  com- 
fortable. You  see,  I  resign  myself  to  the  inevitable. 
I  have  come  to  fetch  golfers  home  to  luncheon,  and 
I  compose  myself  to  listen.  Which  of  you  will  be- 
gin the  epic  of  missed  putts  and  brassey  shots  which 
failed  by  a  foot  to  carry?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Hamel  sat  alone  upon  the  terrace,  his  afternoon 
coffee  on  a  small  table  in  front  of  him.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  a  black  speck  at  the  end  of  the 
level  roadway  which  led  to  the  Tower.  Only  a  few 
minutes  before,  Mr.  Fentolin,  in  his  little  carriage, 
had  shot  out  from  the  passage  beneath  the  terrace, 
on  his  way  to  the  Tower.  Behind  him  came  Meekins, 
bending  over  his  bicycle.  Hamel  watched  them  both 
with  thoughtful  eyes.  There  were  several  little  in- 
cidents in  connection  with  their  expedition  which  he 
scarcely  understood. 

Then  there  came  at  last  the  sound  for  which  he  had 
been  listening,  the  rustle  of  a  skirt  along  the  ter- 
raced way.  Hamel  turned  quickly  around,  half 
rising  to  his  feet,  and  concealing  his  disappointment 
with  difficulty.  It  was  Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin  who 
stood  there,  a  little  dog  under  each  arm;  a  large 
hat,  gay  with  flowers,  upon  her  head.  She  wore 
patent  shoes  with  high  heels,  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings. She  had,  indeed,  the  air  of  being  dressed 
for  luncheon  at  a  fashionable  restaurant.  As  she 
stooped  to  set  the  dogs  down,  a  strong  waft  of  per- 
fume was  shaken  from  her  clothes. 

"  Are  you  entirely  deserted,  Mr.  Hamel? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  am,"  he  replied.  "  Miss  Esther  went,  I  think, 
to  look  for  you.  My  host,"  he  added,  pointing  to 


224      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

the  black  speck  in  the  distance,  "  begged  me  to  defel 
ray  occupation  of  the  Tower  for  an  hour  or  so, 
and  has  gone  down  there  to  collect  some  of  his 
trifles." 

Her  eyes  followed  his  outstretched  hand.  She 
seemed  to  him  to  shiver  for  a  moment. 

"  You  really  mean,  then,  that  you  are  going  to 
leave  us  ?  "  she  asked,  accepting  the  chair  which  he 
had  drawn  up  close  to  his. 

He  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  scarcely  came  on  a  visit  to  St.  David's 
Hall,  did  I?  "  he  reminded  her.  "  It  has  been  de- 
lightfully hospitable  of  Mr.  Fentolin  to  have  in- 
sisted upon  my  staying  on  here  for  these  few  days, 
but  I  could  not  possibly  inflict  myself  upon  you  all 
for  an  unlimited  period." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  sat  quite  still  for  a  time.  In  ab- 
solute repose,  if  one  could  forget  her  mass  of  un- 
naturally golden  hair,  the  forced  and  constant  smile, 
the  too  liberal  use  of  rouge  and  powder,  the  nervous 
motions  of  her  head,  it  was  easily  to  be  realised  that 
there  were  still  neglected  attractions  about  her  face 
and  figure.  Only,  in  these  moments  of  repose,  an 
intense  and  ageing  weariness  seemed  to  have  crept 
into  her  eyes  and  face.  It  was  as  though  she  had 
dropped  the  mask  of  incessant  gaiety  and  permitted 
a  glimpse  of  her  real  self  to  steal  to  the  surface. 

"  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said  quietly,  "  I  dare  say  that 
even  during  these  few  days  you  have  realised  that  Mr. 
Fentolin  is  a  very  peculiar  man." 

"  I  have  certainly  observed  —  eccentricities," 
Hamel  assented. 

"  My  life,  and  the  lives  of  my  two  children,"  she 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      225 

went  on,  "  is  devoted  to  the  task  of  ministering  to 
his  happiness." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  a  heavy  sacrifice  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin  looked  down  the  long,  nar- 
row way  along  which  Mr.  Fentolin  had  passed.  He 
was  out  of  sight  now,  inside  the  Tower.  Somehow 
or  other,  the  thought  seemed  to  give  her  courage  and 
dignity.  She  spoke  differently,  without  nervousness 
or  hurry. 

"  To  you,  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said,  "  it  may  seem  so. 
We  who  make  it  know  of  its  necessity." 

He  bowed  his  head.  It  was  not  a  subject  for  him 
to  discuss  with  her. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  has  whims,"  she  went  on,  "  violent 
whims.  We  all  try  to  humour  him.  He  has  his  own 
ideas  about  Gerald's  bringing  up.  I  do  not  agree 
with  them,  but  we  submit.  Esther,  too,  suffers,  per- 
haps to  a  less  extent.  As  for  me," —  her  voice 
broke  a  little  — "  Mr.  Fentolin  likes  people  around 
him  who  are  always  cheerful.  He  prefers  even  a 
certain  style  —  of  dress.  I,  too,  have  to  do  my  little 
share." 

Hamel's  face  grew  darker. 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,"  he  demanded, 
"  that  Mr.  Fentolin  is  a  tyrant?  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  There  are  reasons,"  she  declared,  "  why  I  can- 
not discuss  that  with  you.  He  has  these  strong 
fancies,  and  it  is  our  task  in  life  to  humour  them. 
He  has  one  now  with  regard  to  the  Tower,  with  re^ 
gard  to  you.  You  are,  of  course,  your  own  master. 
You  can  do  as  you  choose,  and  you  will  do  as  you 
choose.  Neither  I  nor  my  children  have  any  claim 


226      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

upon  your  consideration.  But,  Mr.  Hamel,  you 
have  been  so  kind  that  I  feel  moved  to  tell  you  this. 
It  would  make  it  very  much  easier  for  all  of  us  if 
you  would  give  up  this  scheme  of  yours,  if  you  would 
stay  on  here  instead  of  going  to  reside  at  the  Tower." 

Hamel  threw  away  his  cigarette.  He  was  deeply 
interested. 

"  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  have 
you  speak  so  plainly.  Let  me  answer  you  in  th«. 
same  spirit.  I  am  leaving  this  house  mainly  because 
I  have  conceived  certain  suspicions  with  regard  to 
Mr.  Fentolin.  I  do  not  like  him,  I  do  not  trust  him, 
I  do  not  believe  in  him.  Therefore,  I  mean  to  re- 
move myself  from  the  burden  of  his  hospitality. 
There  are  reasons,"  he  went  on,  "  why  I  do  not  wish 
to  leave  the  neighbourhood  altogether.  There  are 
certain  investigations  which  I  wish  to  make.  That 
is  why  I  have  decided  to  go  to  the  Tower." 

"  Miles  was  right,  then ! "  she  cried  suddenly 
"  You  are  here  to  spy  upon  him !  " 

He  turned  towards  her  swiftly. 

"  To  spy  upon  him,  Mrs.  Fentolin  ?  For  what 
reason?  Why?  Is  he  a  criminal,  then?  " 

She  opened  her  lips  and  closed  them  again.  There 
was  a  slight  frown  upon  her  forehead.  It  was  ob- 
vious that  the  word  had  unintentionally  escaped  her. 

"  I  only  know  what  it  is  that  he  called  you,  what 
he  suspects  you  of  being,"  she  explained.  "  Mr. 
Fentolin  is  very  clever,  and  he  is  generally  at  work 
upon  something.  We  do  not  enquire  into  the  pur- 
pose of  his  labours.  The  only  thing  I  know  is  that 
he  suspects  you  of  wanting  to  steal  one  of  his  se- 
crets." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      227 

"  Secrets?  But  what  secrets  has  he?  "  Hamel  de- 
manded. "  Is  he  an  inventor?  " 

"  You  ask  me  idle  questions,"  she  sighed.  "  We 
have  gone,  perhaps,  a  little  further  than  I  intended. 
I  came  to  plead  with  you  for  all  our  sakes,  if  I 
could,  to  make  things  more  comfortable  by  remain- 
ing here  instead  of  insisting  upon  your  claim  to 
the  Tower." 

"  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  Hamel  said  firmly.  "  I  like  to 
do  what  I  can  to  please  and  benefit  my  friends,  es- 
pecially those  who  have  been  kind  to  me.  I  will  be 
quite  frank  with  you.  There  is  nothing  you  could 
ask  me  which  I  would  not  do  for  your  daughter's  sake 
—  if  I  were  convinced  that  it  was  for  her  good." 

Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin  seemed  to  be  trembling 
a  little.  Her  hands  were  crossed  upon  her  bosom. 

"  You  have  known  her  for  so  short  a  time,"  she 
murmured. 

Hamel  smiled  confidently. 

"  I  will  not  weary  you,"  he  said,  "  with  the  usual 
trite  remarks.  I  will  simply  tell  you  that  the  time 
has  been  long  enough.  I  love  your  daughter." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  sat  quite  still.  Only  in  her  eyes, 
fixed  steadily  seawards,  there  was  the  light  of  some- 
thing new,  as  though  some  new  thought  was  stirring 
in  her  brain.  Her  lips  moved,  although  the  sound 
which  came  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  murmured,  as  though  arguing 
with  some  unseen  critic  of  her  thoughts.  "  Why 
not?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  rich  man,"  Hamel  went  on,  "  but  I 
am  fairly  well  off.  I  could  afford  to  be  married  at 
once,  and  I  should  like  — " 


228      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

She  turned  suddenly  upon  him  and  gripped  his 
wrist. 

"  Listen,"  she  interrupted,  "  you  are  a  traveller, 
are  you  not?  You  have  been  to  distant  countries, 
where  white  people  go  seldom ;  inaccessible  countries, 
where  even  the  arm  of  the  law  seldom  reaches. 
Couldn't  you  take  her  away  there,  take  her  right 
away,  travel  so  fast  that  nothing  could  catch  you, 
and  hide  —  hide  for  a  little  time  ?  " 

Hamel  stared  at  his  companion,  for  a  moment, 
blankly.  Her  attitude  was  so  unexpected,  her  ques- 
tioning so  fierce. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  he  began  — 

She  suddenly  relaxed  her  grip  of  his  arm.  Some- 
thing of  the  old  hopelessness  was  settling  down  upon 
her  face.  Her  hands  fell  into  her  lap. 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  "  I  forgot !  I  mustn't 
talk  like  that.  She,  too,  is  part  of  the  sacrifice." 

"  Part  of  the  sacrifice,"  Hamel  repeated,  frown- 
ing. "  Is  she,  indeed !  I  don't  know  what  sacrifice 
you  mean,  but  Esther  is  the  girl  whom  sooner  or 
later,  somehow  or  other,  I  am  going  to  make  my 
wife,  and  when  she  is  my  wife,  I  shall  see  to  it  that 
she  isn't  afraid  of  Miles  Fentolin  or  of  any  other  man 
breathing." 

A  gleam  of  hopefulness  shone  through  the  stony 
misery  of  the  woman's  face. 

"  Does  Esther  care?  "  she  asked  softly. 

"How  can  I  tell?  I  can  only  hope  so.  If  she 
doesn't  yet,  she  shall  some  day.  I  suppose,"  he 
added,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  rather  too  soon  yet  to 
expect  that  she  should.  If  it  is  necessary,  I  can 
wait." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      229 

Mrs.  Fentolin's  eyes  were  once  more  fixed  upon 
the  Tower.  The  sun  had  caught  the  top  of  the  tele- 
phone wire  and  played  around  it  till  it  seemed  like 
a  long,  thin  shaft  of  silver. 

"  If  you  go  down  there,"  she  said,  "  Esther  will 
not  be  allowed  to  see  you  at  all.  Mr.  Fentolin  has 
decided  to  take  it  as  a  personal  affront.  You  will 
be  ostracised  from  here." 

"  Shall  I?  "  he  answered.  "  Well,  it  won't  be  for 
long,  at  any  rate.  And  as  to  not  seeing  Esther,  you 
must  remember  that  I  come  from  outside  this  little 
domain,  and  I  see  nothing  more  in  Mr.  Fentolin  than 
a  bad-tempered,  mischievous,  tyrannical  old  invalid, 
who  is  fortunately  prevented  by  his  infirmities  from 
doing  as  much  mischief  as  he  might.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  your  brother-in-law,  or  of  the  bully  he  takes  about 
with  him,  and  I  am  going  to  see  your  daughter  some- 
how or  other,  and  I  am  going  to  marry  her  before 
very  long." 

She  thrust  out  her  hand  suddenly  and  grasped  his. 
The  fingers  were  very  thin,  almost  bony,  and  covered 
with  rings.  Their  grip  was  feverish  and  he  felt  them 
tremble. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  declared, 
speaking  in  a  low,  quick  undertone.  "  Perhaps  you 
are  right.  The  shadow  isn't  .over  your  head.  You 
haven't  lived  in  the  terror  of  it.  You  may  find  a 
way.  God  grant  it !  " 

She  wrung  his  fingers  and  rose  to  her  feet.  Her 
voice  suddenly  changed  into  another  key.  Hamel 
knew  instinctively  that  she  wished  him  to  understand 
that  their  conversation  was  over. 

"  Chow-Chow,"  she  cried,  "  come  along,  dear,  we 


230      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

must  have  our  walk.     Come  along,  Koto ;  come  along, 
little  dogs." 

Hamel  strolled  down  the  terrace  steps  and  wan- 
dered for  a  time  in  the  gardens  behind  the  house. 
Here,  in  the  shelter  of  the  great  building,  he  found 
himself  suddenly  in  an  atmosphere  of  springtime. 
There  were  beds  of  crocuses  and  hyacinths,  fragrant 
clumps  of  violets,  borders  of  snowdrops,  masses  of 
primroses  and  early  anemones.  He  slowly  climbed 
one  or  two  steep  paths  until  he  reached  a  sort  of 
plateau,  level  with  the  top  of  the  house.  The  flowers 
here  grew  more  sparsely,  the  track  of  the  salt  wind 
lay  like  a  withering  hand  across  the  flower-beds. 
The  garden  below  was  like  a  little  oasis  of  colour  and 
perfume.  Arrived  at  the  bordering  red  brick  wall, 
he  turned  around  and  looked  along  the  narrow  road 
which  led  to  the  sea.  There  was  no  sign  of  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin's  return.  Then  to  his  left  he  saw  a  gate  open 
and  heard  the  clamour  of  dogs.  Esther  appeared, 
walking  swiftly  towards  the  little  stretch  of  road 
which  led  to  the  village.  He  hurried  after  her. 

"  Unsociable  person !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  caught 
her  up.  "  Didn't  you  know  that  I  was  longing  for 
a  walk?  " 

"  How  should  I  read  your  thoughts  ?  "  she  an- 
swered. "  Besides,  a  few  minutes  ago  I  saw  you 
on  the  terrace,  talking  to  mother.  I  am  only  going 
as  far  as  the  village." 

"May  I  come?"  he  asked.  "I  have  business 
there  myself." 

She  laughed. 

'  There  are  nine  cottages,  three  farmhouses,  and  a 
general  shop  in  St.  David's,"  she  remarked.  "  Also 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      231 

about  fifteen  fishermen's  cottages  dotted  about  the 
marsh.  Your  business,  I  presume,  is  with  the  gen- 
eral shop  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  falling  into  step  with  her. 

"  What  I  want,"  he  explained,  "  is  to  find  a  woman 
to  come  in  and  look  after  me  at  the  Tower.  Your 
servant  who  valets  me  has  given  me  two  names." 

Something  of  the  lightness  faded  from  her  face. 

"  So  you  have  quite  made  up  your  mind  to  leave 
us  ? "  she  asked  slowly.  "  Mother  wasn't  able  to 
persuade  you  to  stay?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  She  was  very  kind,"  he  said,  "  but  there  are 
really  grave  reasons  why  I  feel  that  I  must  not  ac- 
cept Mr.  Fentolin's  hospitality  any  longer.  I  had," 
he  went  on,  "  a  very  interesting  talk  with  your 
mother." 

She  turned  quickly  towards  him.  The  slightest 
possible  tinge  of  additional  colour  was  in  her  cheeks. 
She  was  walking  on  the  top  of  a  green  bank,  with 
the  wind  blowing  her  skirts  around  her.  The  turn 
of  her  head  was  a  little  diffident,  almost  shy.  Her 
eyes  were  asking  him  questions.  At  that  moment 
she  seemed  to  him,  with  her  slim  body,  her  gently 
parted  lips  and  soft,  tremulous  eyes,  almost  like  a 
child.  He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her. 

"  I  told  your  mother,"  he  continued,  "  all  that  I 
have  told  you,  and  more.  I  told  her,  dear,  that  I 
cared  for  you,  that  I  wanted  you  to  be  my  wife." 

She  was  caught  in  a  little  gust  of  wind.  Both  her 
hands  went  up  to  her  hat;  her  face  was  hidden. 
She  stepped  down  from  the  bank. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  she  said  quietly. 


232      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Why  not?  "  he  demanded.     "  It  was  the  truth." 

He  stooped  forward,  intent  upon  looking  into  her 
face.  The  mystic  softness  was  still  in  her  eyes,  but 
her  general  expression  was  inscrutable.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  there  was  fear  there. 

"  What  did  mother  say?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Nothing  discouraging,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't 
think  she  minded  at  all.  I  have  decided,  if  you  give 
me  permission,  to  go  and  talk  to  Mr.  Fentolin  this 
evening." 

She  shook  her  head  very  emphatically. 

"Don't!"  she  implored.  "Don't!  Don't  give 
him  another  whip  to  lash  us  with.  Keep  silent. 
Let  me  just  have  the  memory  for  a  few  days  all  to 
myself." 

Her  words  came  to  him  like  numb  things.  There 
was  little  expression  in  them,  and  yet  he  felt  that 
somehow  they  meant  so  much. 

"  Esther  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  do  just  as  you 
ask  me.  At  the  same  time,  please  listen.  I  think 
that  you  are  all  absurdly  frightened  of  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin. Living  here  alone  with  him,  you  have  all 
grown  under  his  dominance  to  an  unreasonable  ex- 
tent. Because  of  his  horrible  infirmity,  you  have 
let  yourselves  become  his  slaves.  There  are  limits 
to  this  sort  of  thing,  Esther.  I  come  here  as  a 
stranger,  and  I  see  nothing  more  in  Mr.  Fentolin 
than  a  very  selfish,  irritable,  domineering,  and  ca- 
pricious old  man.  Humour  him,  by  all  means.  I  am 
willing  to  do  the  same  myself.  But  when  it  comes 
to  the  great  things  in  life,  neither  he  nor  any  living 
person  is  going  to  keep  from  me  the  woman  I  love." 

She  walked  by  his  side  in  silence.     Her  breath  was 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      233 

coming  a  little  quicker,  her  fingers  lay  passive  in  his. 
Then  for  a  moment  he  felt  the  grip  of  them  almost 
burn  into  his  flesh.  Still  she  said  nothing. 

"  I  want  your  permission,  dear,"  he  went  on,  "  to 
go  to  him.  I  suppose  he  calls  himself  your  guardian. 
If  he  says  no,  you  are  of  age.  I  just  want  you  to 
believe  that  I  am  strong  enough  to  put  my  arms 
around  you  and  to  carry  you  away  to  my  own  world 
and  keep  you  there,  although  an  army  of  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin's  creatures  followed  us." 

She  turned,  and  he  saw  the  great  transformation. 
Her  face  was  brilliant,  her  eyes  shone  with  wonder- 
ful things. 

"  Please,"  she  begged,  "  will  you  say  or  do  nothing 
at  all  for  a  little  time,  until  I  tell  you  .  when  ?  I 
want  just  a  few  days'  peace.  You  have  said  such 
beautiful  things  to  me  that  I  want  them  to  lie  there 
in  my  thoughts,  in  my  heart,  undisturbed,  for  just  a 
little  time.  You  see,  we  are  at  the  village  now.  I 
am  going  to  call  at  this  third  cottage.  While  I  am 
inside,  you  can  go  and  make  what  enquiries  you  like. 
Come  and  knock  at  the  door  for  me  when  you  are 
ready." 

"  And  we  will  walk  back  together?  " 

"  We  will  walk  back  together,"  she  promised  him. 
"  I  will  take  you  home  another  way.  I  will  take 
you  over  what  they  call  the  Common,  and  come  down 
behind  the  Hall  into  the  gardens." 

She  dismissed  him  with  a  little  smile.  He  strolled 
along  the  village  street  and  plunged  into  the  mys- 
terious recesses  of  the  one  tiny  shop. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Hamel  met  Kinsley  shortly  before  one  o'clock  the 
following  afternoon,  in  the  lounge  of  the  Royal  Ho- 
tel at  Norwich. 

"  You  got  my  wire,  then  ?  "  the  latter  asked,  as  he 
held  out  his  hand.  "  I  had  it  sent  by  special  mes- 
senger from  Wells." 

"  It  arrived  directly  after  breakfast,"  Hamel  re- 
plied. "  It  wasn't  the  easiest  matter  to  get  here, 
even  then,  for  there  are  only  about  two  trains  a 
day,  and  I  didn't  want  to  borrow  a  car  from  Mr. 
Fentolin." 

"  Quite  right,"  Kinsley  agreed.  "  I  wanted  you 
to  come  absolutely  on  your  own.  Let's  get  into  the 
coffee-room  and  have  some  lunch  now.  I  want  to 
catch  the  afternoon  train  back  to  town." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've  come  all  the 
way  down  here  to  talk  to  me  for  half  an  hour  or  so  ?  " 
Hamel  demanded,  as  they  took  their  places  at  a 
table. 

"  All  the  way  from  town,"  Kinsley  assented,  "  and 
up  to  the  eyes  in  work  we  are,  too.  Dick,  what  do 
you  think  of  Miles  Fentolin  ?  " 

"  Hanged  if  I  know ! "  Hamel  answered,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Nothing  definite  to  tell  .us,  then?  " 

"Nothing!" 

«  What  about  Mr.  John  P.  Dunster?  " 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      235 

"  He  left  yesterday  morning,"  Hamel  said.  "  I 
saw  him  go.  He  looked  very  shaky.  I  understood 
that  Mr.  Fentolin  sent  him  to  Yarmouth." 

"  Did  Mr.  Fentolin  know  that  there  was  an  en- 
quiry on  foot  about  this  man's  disappearance? " 
Kinsley  asked. 

"  Certainly.  I  heard  Lord  Saxthorpe  tell  him 
that  the  police  had  received  orders  to  scour  the 
country  for  him,  and  that  they  were  coming  to  St. 
David's  Hall." 

Kinsley,  for  a  moment,  was  singularly  and  elo- 
quently profane. 

"  That's  why  Mr.  Fentolin  let  him  go,  then.  If 
Saxthorpe  had  only  held  his  tongue,  or  if  those  in- 
fernal police  hadn't  got  chattering  with  the  magis- 
trates, we  might  have  made  a  coup.  As  it  is,  the 
game's  up.  Mr.  Dunster  left  for  Yarmouth,  you 
say,  yesterday  morning?  " 

"  I  saw  him  go  myself.  He  looked  very  shaky 
and  ill,  but  he  was  able  to  smoke  a  big  cigar  and 
walk  down-stairs  leaning  on  the  doctor's  arm." 

"I  don't  doubt,"  Kinsley  remarked,  "but  that 
you  saw  what  you  say  you  saw.  At  the  same  time, 
you  may  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Mr.  Dunster  has 
disappeared  again." 

"  Disappeared  again  ?  "  Hamel  muttered. 

"  It  looks  very  much,"  Kinsley  continued,  "  as 
though  your  friend  Miles  Fentolin  has  been  playing 
with  him  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse.  He  has  been 
obliged  to  turn  him  out  of  one  hiding-place,  and  he 
has  simply  transferred  him  to  another." 

Hamel  looked  doubtful. 

"  Mr.   Dunster  left  quite  alone   in  the   car,"  he 


236      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

said.  "  He  was  on  his  guard,  too,  for  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  and  he  had  had  words.  I  really  can't  see  how 
it  was  possible  for  him  to  have  got  into  any  more 
trouble." 

"  Where  is  he,  then? "  Kinsley  demanded. 
"  Come,  I  will  let  you  a  little  further  into  our  confi- 
dence. We  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  carries 
with  him  a  written  message  which  is  practically  the 
only  chance  we  have  of  avoiding  disaster  during  the 
next  few  days.  That  written  message  is  addressed 
to  the  delegates  at  The  Hague,  who  are  now  sitting. 
Nothing  had  been  heard  of  Dunster  or  the  document 
he  carries.  No  word  has  come  from  him  of  any 
sort  since  he  left  St.  David's  Hall." 

"  Have  you  tried  to  trace  him  from  there  ? " 
Hamel  asked. 

"Trace  him?"  Kinsley  repeated.  "By  heavens, 
you  don't  seem  to  understand,  Dick,  the  immense, 
the  extraordinary  importance  of  this  man  to  us ! 
The  cleverest  detective  in  England  spent  yesterday 
under  your  nose  at  St.  David's  Hall.  There  are  a 
dozen  others  working  upon  the  job  as  hard  as  they 
can.  All  the  reports  confirm  what  you  say  —  that 
Dunster  left  St.  David's  Hall  at  half-past  nine  yes- 
terday morning,  and  he  certainly  arrived  in  Yar- 
mouth at  a  little  before  twelve.  From  there  he  seems, 
however,  to  have  completely  disappeared.  The  car 
went  back  to  St.  David's  Hall  empty;  the  man  only 
stayed  long  enough  in  Yarmouth,  in  fact,  to  have 
his  dinner.  We  cannot  find  a  single  smack  owner 
who  was  approached  in  any  way  for  the  hire  of  a 
boat.  Yarmouth  has  been  ransacked  in  vain.  He 
certainly  has  not  arrived  at  The  Hague  or  we  should 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      237 

have  heard  news  at  once.  As  a  last  resource,  I  ran 
down  here  to  see  you  on  the  chance  of  your  having 
picked  up  any  information." 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  more  than  I  do, 
already,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Fentolin  ?  You  have 
stayed  in  his  house.  You  have  had  an  opportunity 
of  studying  him." 

"  So  far  as  my  impressions  go,"  Hamel  replied, 
"  everything  which  you  have  suggested  might  very 
well  be  true.  I  think  that  either  out  of  sheer  love 
of  mischief,  or  from  some  subtler  motive,  he  is 
capable  of  anything.  Every  one  in  the  place,  except 
one  poor  woman,  seems  to  look  upon  him  as  a  sort 
of  supernatural  being.  He  gives  money  away  to 
worthless  people  with  both  hands.  Yet  I  share  your 
opinion  of  him.  I  believe  that  he  is  a  creature  with- 
out conscience  or  morals.  I  have  sat  at  his  table 
and  shivered  when  he  has  smiled." 

"  Are  you  staying  at  St.  David's  Hall  now?  " 

"  I  left  yesterday." 

"  Where  are  you  now,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  St.  David's  Tower  —  the  little  place  I 
told  you  of  that  belonged  to  my  father  —  but  I  don't 
know  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  stop  there.  Mr. 
Fentolin,  for  some  reason  or  other,  very  much  re- 
sented my  leaving  the  Hall  and  was  very  annoyed 
at  my  insisting  upon  claiming  the  Tower.  When 
I  went  down  to  the  village  to  get  some  one  to  come 
up  and  look  after  me,  there  wasn't  a  woman  there 
who  would  come.  It  didn't  matter  what  I  offered, 
they  were  all  the  same.  They  all  muttered  some 


238      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

excuse  or  other,  and  seemed  only  anxious  to  show 
me  out.  At  the  village  shop  they  seemed  to  hate 
to  serve  me  with  anything.  It  was  all  I  could  do 
to  get  a  packet  of  tobacco  yesterday  afternoon. 
You  would  really  think  that  I  was  the  most  unpop- 
ular person  who  ever  lived,  and  it  can  only  be  be- 
cause of  Mr.  Fentolin's  influence." 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  evidently  doesn't  like  to  have  you 
in  the  locality,"  Kinsley  remarked  thoughtfully. 

"  He  was  all  right  so  long  as  I  was  at  St.  David's 
Hall,"  Hamel  observed. 

"What's  this  little  place  like  —  St.  David's 
Tower,  you  call  it  ?  "  Kinsley  asked. 

"  Just  a  little  stone  building  actually  on  the 
beach,"  Hamel  explained.  "  There  is  a  large  shed 
which  Mr.  Fentolin  keeps  locked  up,  and  the  hab- 
itable portion  consists  just  of  a  bedroom  and  sitting- 
room.  From  what  I  can  see,  Mr.  Fentolin  has  been 
making  a  sort  of  hobby  of  the  place.  There  is 
telephonic  communication  with  the  house,  and  he 
seems  to  have  used  the  sitting-room  as  a  sort  of 
studio.  He  paints  sea  pictures  and  really  paints 
them  very  well." 

A  man  came  into  the  coffee-room,  made  some  en- 
quiry of  the  waiter  and  went  out  again.  Hamel 
stared  at  him  in  a  puzzled  manner.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  could  only  remember  that  the  face  was  fa- 
miliar. Then  he  suddenly  gave  vent  to  a  little  ex- 
clamation. 

.  "  Any  one  would  think  that  I  had  been  followed," 
he  remarked.  "  The  man  who  has  just  looked  into 
the  room  is  one  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  parasites  or  body- 
guards, or  whatever  you  call  them." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      239 

"  You  probably  have,"  Kinsley  agreed.  "  What 
post  does  he  hold  in  the  household?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  Hamel  replied.  "  I  saw  him 
the  first  day  I  arrived  and  not  since.  Sort  of  sec- 
retary, I  should  think." 

"  He  is  a  queer-looking  fellow,  anyway,"  Kinsley 
muttered.  "  Look  out,  Dick.  Here  he  comes  back 
again." 

Mr.  Ryan  approached  the  table  a  little  diffi- 
dently. 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  the  liberty,  sir,"  he  said 
to  Hamel.  "  You  remember  me,  I  trust  —  Mr. 
Ryan.  I  am  the  librarian  at  St.  David's  Hall." 

Hamel  nodded. 

"  I  thought  I'd  seen  you  there." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  the  man  continued,  "  whether 
you  had  a  car  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  in  Norwich  to-day, 
and  if  so,  whether  I  might  beg  a  seat  back  in  case 
you  were  returning  before  the  five  o'clock  train? 
I  came  in  early  this  morning  to  go  through  some 
manuscripts  at  a  second-hand  bookseller's  here,  and 
I  have  unfortunately  missed  the  train  back." 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  I  came  in  by  train  myself,  or  I  would  have  given 
you  a  lift  back,  with  pleasure,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Ryan  expressed  his  thanks  briefly  and  left  the 
room.  Kinsley  watched  him  from  over  the  top  of  a 
newspaper. 

"  So  that  is  one  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  creatures,  too," 
he  remarked.  "  Keeping  his  eye  on  you  in  Norwich, 
eh?  Tell  me,  Dick,  by-the-by,  how  do  you  get  on 
with  the  rest  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  household,  and  ex- 
actly of  whom  does  it  consist  ?  " 


240      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  There  is  his  sister-in-law,"  Hamel  replied,  "  Mrs. 
Seymour  Fentolin.  She  is  a  strange,  tired-looking 
woman  who  seems  to  stand  in  mortal  fear  of  Mr. 
Fentolin.  She  is  always  overdressed  and  never  nat- 
ural, but  it  seems  to  me  that  nearly  everything  she 
does  is  done  to  suit  his  whims,  or  at  his  instiga- 
tion." 

Kinsley  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"  I  remember  Seymour  Fentolin,"  he  said ;  "  a 
really  fine  fellow  he  was.  Well,  who  else?  " 

"  Just  the  nephew  and  niece.  The  boy  is  half 
sullen,  half  discontented,  yet  he,  too,  -seems  to  obey 
his  uncle  blindly.  The  three  of  them  seem  to  be 
his  slaves.  It's  a  thing  you  can't  live  in  the  house 
without  noticing." 

"  It  seems  to  be  a  cheerful  sort  of  household," 
Kinsley  observed.  "  You  read  the  papers,  I  sup- 
pose, Dick?  "  he  asked,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  On  and  off,  the  last  few  days.  I  seem  to  have 
been  busy  doing  all  sorts  of  things." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something,"  Kinsley  continued. 
"  The  whole  of  our  available  fleet  is  engaged  in 
carrying  out  what  they  call  a  demonstration  in  the 
North  Sea.  They  have  patrol  boats  out  in  every 
direction,  and  only  the  short  distance  wireless  sig- 
nals are  being  used.  Everything,  of  course,  is  in 
code,  yet  we  know  this  for  a  fact:  a  good  deal  of 
private  information  passing  between  the  Admiral 
and  his  commanders  was  known  in  Germany  three 
hours  after  the  signals  themselves  had  been  given. 
It  is  suspected  —  more  than  suspected,  in  fact  — 
that  these  messages  were  picked  up  by  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin's  wireless  installation." 


241 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  could  help  receiving  them," 
Hamel  remarked. 

"  He  could  help  decoding  them  and  sending  them 
through  to  Germany,  though,"  Kinsley  retorted 
grimly.  "  The  worst  of  it  is,  he  has  a  private  tele- 
phone wire  in  his  house  to  London.  If  he  isn't  up 
to  mischief,  what  does  he  need  all  these  things  for  — 
private  telegraph  line,  private  telephone,  private 
wireless?  We  have  given  the  postmaster  a  hint  to 
have  the  telegraph  office  moved  down  into  the  vil- 
lage, but  I  don't  know  that  that  will  help  us  much." 

"  So  far  as  regards  the  wireless,"  Hamel  said,  "  I 
rather  believe  that  it  is  temporarily  dismantled.  We 
had  a  sailor-man  over,  the  morning  before  yesterday, 
to  complain  of  his  messages  having  been  picked  up. 
Mr.  Fentolin  promised  at  once  to  put  his  installa- 
tion out  of  work  for  a  time." 

"  He  has  done  plenty  of  mischief  with  it  already," 
Kinsley  groaned.  "  However,  it  was  Dunster  I  came 
down  to  make  enquiries  about.  I  couldn't  help  hop- 
ing that  you  might  have  been  able  to  put  us  on  the 
right  track." 

Hamel  sighed. 

"  I  know  nothing  beyond  what  I  have  told  you." 

"  How  did  he  look  when  he  went  away  ?  " 

"  Very   ill   indeed,"    Hamel   declared.     "  I    after- 
wards saw  the  nurse  who  had  been  attending  him, 
and  she  admitted  that  he  was  not  fit  to  travel.     I 
should  say  the  probabilities  are  that  he  is  laid  up' 
again  somewhere." 

"Did  you  actually  speak  to  him?"    . 

"  Just  a  word  or  two." 

*'  And  you  saw  him  go  off  in  the  car?  " 


242      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Gerald  Fentolin  and  I  both  saw  him  and  wished 
him  good-by." 

Kinsley  glanced  at  the  clock  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Walk  down  to  the  station  with  me,"  he  sug- 
gested. "  I  needn't  tell  you,  I  am  sure,"  he  went 
on,  as  they  left  the  hotel  a  few  minutes  later,  "  that 
if  anything  does  turn  up,  or  if  you  get  the  glim- 
mering of  an  idea,  you'll  let  me  know?  We've  a  small 
army  looking  for  the  fellow,  but  it  does  seem  as 
though  he  had  disappeared  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
If  he  doesn't  turn  up  before  the  end  of  the  Conference, 
we  are  done." 

"  Tell  me,"  Hamel  asked,  after  they  had  walked 
for  some  distance  in  silence,  "  exactly  why  is  our 
fleet  demonstrating  to  such  an  extent?  " 

"  That  Conference  I  have  spoken  of,"  Kinsley  re- 
plied, "  which  is  being  held  at  The  Hague,  is  being 
held,  we  know,  purposely  to  discuss  certain  matters 
in  which  we  are  interested.  It  is  meeting  for  their 
discussion  without  any  invitation  having  been  sent 
to  this  country.  There  is  only  one  reply  possible 
to  such  a  course.  It  is  there  in  the  North  Sea. 
But  unfortunately — " 

Kinsley  paused.  His  tone  and  his  expression  had 
alike  become  gloomier. 

"  Go  on,"  Hamel  begged. 

"  Our  reply,  after  all,  is  a  miserable  affair," 
Kinsley  concluded.  "  You  remember  the  outcry 
over  the  withdrawal  of  our  Mediterranean  Fleet? 
Now  you  see  its  sequel.  We  haven't  a  ship  worth  a 
snap  of  the  fingers  from  Gibraltar  to  Suez.  If 
France  deserts  us,  it's  good-by  to  Malta,  good-by  to 
,  good-by  to  India.  It's  the  disruption  of  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      243 

British  Empire.  And  all  this,"  he  wound  up,  as  he 
paused  before  taking  his  seat  in  the  railway  carriage, 
"  all  this  might  even  now  be  avoided  if  only  we  could 
lay  our  hands  upon  the  message  which  that  man  Dun- 
ster  was  bringing  from  New  York ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Once  more  Hamel  descended  from  the  little  train, 
and,  turning  away  from  St.  David's  Hall,  made  his 
way  across  the  marshes,  seawards.  The  sunshine 
of  the  last  few  days  had  departed.  The  twilight 
was  made  gloomy  by  a  floating  veil  of  white  mist, 
which  hung  about  in  wet  patches.  Hamel  turned 
up  his  coat  collar  as  he  walked  and  shivered  a  little. 
The  thought  of  his  solitary  night  and  uncomfortable 
surroundings,  after  all  the  luxury  of  St.  David's 
Hall,  was  scarcely  inspiring.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he 
was  splendidly  cheerful.  The  glamour  of  a  host  of 
new  sensations  was  upon  him.  There  was  a  new  love 
of  living  in  his  heart.  He  forgot  the  cold  east  wind 
which  blew  in  his  face,  bringing  with  it  little  puffs 
of  damp  grey  mist.  He  forgot  the  cheerlessness 
which  he  was  about  to  face,  the  lonely  night  before 
him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  a  woman  reigned 
in  his  thoughts. 

It  was  not  until  he  actually  reached  the  very  side 
of  the  Tower  that  he  came  back  to  earth.  As  he 
opened  the  door,  he  found  a  surprise  in  store  for  him. 
A  fire  was  burning  in  the  sitting-room,  smoke  was  as- 
cending from  the  kitchen  chimney.  The  little  round 
table  was  laid  with  a  white  cloth.  There  was  a  faint 
odour  of  cooking  from  the  back  premises.  His  lamp 
was  lit,  there  were  logs  hissing  and  crackling  upon 
the  fire.  As  he  stood  there  looking  wonderingly 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      245 

about  him,  the  door  from  the  back  was  opened. 
Hannah  Cox  came  quietly  into  the  room. 

"  What  time  would  you  like  your  dinner,  sir?  " 
she  enquired. 

Hamel  stared  at  her. 

"  Why,  are  you  going  to  keep  house  for  me,  Mrs. 
Cox  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  you  please,  sir.  I  heard  that  you  had  been 
in  the  village,  looking  for  some  one.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  was  away.  There  is  no  one  else  who  would 
come  to  you." 

"  So  I  discovered,"  he  remarked,  a  little  grimly. 

"  No  one  else,"  she  went  on,  "  would  come  to  you 
because  of  Mr.  Fentolin.  He  does  not  wish  to  have 
you  here.  They  love  him  so  much  in  the  village  that 
ie  had  only  to  breathe  the  word.  It  was  enough." 

"  Yet  you  are  here,"  he  reminded  her. 

"  I  do  not  count,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  outside 
all  these  things." 

Hamel  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  could  come,  anyhow.  If 
you  have  something  for  dinner,  I  should  like  it  in 
about  half  an  hour." 

He  climbed  the  narrow  stairs  which  led  to  his 
bedroom.  To  his  surprise,  there  were  many  things 
there  for  his  comfort  which  he  had  forgotten  to 
order  —  clean  bed-linen,  towels,  even  a  curtain  upon 
the  window. 

"  Where  did  you  get  all  the  linen  up-stairs  from, 
Mrs.  Cox  ?  "  he  asked  her,  when  he  descended.  "  The 
room  was  almost  empty  yesterday,  and  I  forgot 
nearly  all  the  things  I  meant  to  bring  home  from 
Norwich." 


246      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin  sent  down  a  hamper  foi 
you,"  the  woman  replied,  "  with  a  message  from  Mr. 
Fentolin.  He  said  that  nothing  among  the  odd- 
ments left  by  your  father  had  been  preserved,  but 
that  you  were  welcome  to  anything  you  desired,  if 
you  would  let  them  know  at  the  Hall." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  both  of  them,"  Hamel  said 
thoughtfully. 

The  woman  stood  still  for  a  moment,  looking  at 
him.  Then  she  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"  Has    Mr.   Fentolin   given   you    the    key    of   the 
shed?  "  she  asked,  very  quietly. 
Hamel  shook  his  head. 
"  We  don't  need  the  place,  do  we  ?  " 
"He  did  not  give  you  the  key?"  she  persisted. 
"  Mr.  Fentolin   said  that  he  had  some  things   in 
there  which  he  wished  to  keep  locked  up,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

She  remained  thoughtful  for  several  moments. 
Then  she  turned  away. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  was  not  likely  —  he  would 
not  give  you  that  key !  " 

Hamel  dined  simply  but  comfortably.  Mrs.  Cox 
cleared  away  the  things,  brought  him  his  coffee, 
and  appeared  a  few  minutes  later,  her  shawl  wrapped 
around  her,  ready  for  departure. 

"  I  shall  be  here  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
sir,"  she  announced. 

Hamel  was  a  little  startled.  He  withdrew  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Why,  of   course,"  he   remarked.     "  I'd   forgot- 
ten.     There  is  no  place  for  you  to  stay  here." 
"  I  shall  go  back  to  my  brother's,"  she  said. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      247 

Hamel  put  some  money  upon  the  table. 

"  Please  get  anything  that  is  necessary,"  he  di- 
rected. "  I  shall  leave  you  to  do  the  housekeeping 
for  a  few  days." 

"  Shall  you  be  staying  here  long,  sir?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  replied. 

"  I  do  not  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  stay 
for  very  long.  I  shall  get  only  the  things  that  you 
require  from  day  to  day.  Good  night,  sir." 

She  left  the  room.  Hamel  looked  after  her  for 
a  moment  with  a  frown.  In  some  indescribable  way, 
the  woman  half  impressed,  half  irritated  him.  She 
had  always  the  air  of  keeping  something  in  the  back- 
ground. He  followed  her  out  on  to  the  little  ridge 
of  beach,  a  few  minutes  after  she  had  left.  The  mist 
was  still  drifting  about.  Only  a  few  yards  away  the 
sea  rolled  in,  filling  the  air  with  dull  thunder.  The 
marshland  was  half  obscured.  St.  David's  Hall  was 
invisible,  but  like  strangely-hung  lanterns  in  an  empty 
space  he  saw  the  line  of  lights  from  the  great  house 
gleam  through  the  obscurity.  There  was  no  sound 
save  the  sound  of  the  sea.  He  shivered  slightly.  It 
was  like  an  empty  land,  this. 

Then,  moved  by  some  instinct  of  curiosity,  he  made 
his  way  round  to  the  closed  door  of  the  boat-house, 
only  to  find  it,  as  he  had  expected,  locked.  He  shook 
it  slightly,  without  result.  Then  he  strolled  round 
to  the  back,  entered  his  own  little  abode  by  the 
kitchen,  and  tried  the  other  door  which  led  into  the 
boat-house.  It  was  not  only  locked,  but  a  staple 
had  been  put  in,  and  it  was  fastened  with  a  padlock 
of  curious  design  which  he  did  not  remember  to  have 
seen  there  before.  Again,  half  unconsciously,  he 


248      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

listened,  and  again  he  found  the  silence  oppressive. 
He  went  back  to  his  room,  brought  out  some  of  the 
books  which  it  had  been  his  intention  to  study,  and 
sat  and  read  over  the  fire. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  went  to  bed.  As  he  threw  open 
his  window  before  undressing,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  could  catch  the  sound  of  voices  from  the  sea. 
He  listened  intently.  A  grey  pall  hung  everywhere. 
To  the  left,  with  strange  indistinctness,  almost  like 
something  human  struggling  to  assert  itself,  came 
the  fitful  flash  from  the  light  at  the  entrance  to  the 
tidal  way.  Once  more  he  strained  his  ears.  This 
time  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  He  heard  the 
sound  of  fishermen's  voices.  He  heard  one  of  them 
say  distinctly : 

"  Hard  aport,  Dave  lad !  That's  Fentolin's  light. 
Keep  her  out  a  bit.  Steady,  lad !  " 

Through  a  rift  in  the  mist,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  brown  sail  of  a  fishing-boat,  dangerously  near 
the  land.  He  watched  it  alter  its  course  slightly  and 
pass  on.  Then  again  there  was  silence.  He  un- 
dressed slowly  and  went  to  bed. 

Later  on  he  woke  with  a  start  and  sat  up  in  bed, 
listening  intently,  listening  for  he  knew  not  what. 
Except  for  the  backward  scream  of  the  pebbles, 
dragged  down  every  few  seconds  by  the  receding 
waves,  an  unbroken  silence  seemed  to  prevail.  He 
struck  a  match  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was 
exactly  three  o'clock.  He  got  out  of  bed.  He  was 
a  man  in  perfect  health,  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of 
nerves,  a  man  of  proved  courage.  Yet  he  was  con- 
scious that  his  pulses  were  beating  with  absurd  ra- 
pidity. A  new  feeling  seemed  to  possess  him.  He 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      349 

could  almost  have  declared  that  he  was  afraid. 
What  sound  had  awakened  him?  He  had  no  idea, 
yet  he  seemed  to  have  a  distinct  and  absolute  con- 
viction that  it  had  been  a  real  sound  and  no  dream. 
He  drew  aside  the  curtains  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  The  mist  now  seemed  to  have  become  al- 
most a  fog,  to  have  closed  in  upon  sea  and  land. 
There  was  nothing  whatever  to  be  seen.  As  he  stood 
there  for  a  moment,  listening,  his  face  became  moist 
with  the  drifting  vapour.  Suddenly  upon  the  beach 
he  saw  what  at  first  he  imagined  must  be  an  optical  il- 
lusion —  a  long  shaft  of  light,  invisible  in  itself  except 
that  it  seemed  to  slightly  change  the  density  of  the 
mist.  He  threw  on  an  overcoat  over  his  pyjamas, 
thrust  on  his  slippers,  and  taking  up  his  own  electric 
torch,  hastily  descended  the  stairs.  He  opened  the 
front  door  and  stepped  out  on  to  the  beach.  He 
stood  in  the  very  place  where  the  light  had  seemed  to 
be,  and  looked  inland.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  hu- 
man person,  not  a  sound  except  the  falling  of  the 
sea  upon  the  pebbly  beach.  He  raised  his  voice 
and  called  out.  Somehow  or  other,  speech  seemed 
to  be  a  relief. 

"  Hullo ! " 

There  was  no  response.     He  tried  again. 

"  Is  any  one  there  ?  " 

Still  no  answer.  He  watched  the  veiled  light  from 
the  harbour  appear  and  disappear.  It  threw  no 
shadow  of  illumination  upon  the  spot  to  which  he 
had  gazed  from  his  window.  One  window  at  St. 
David's  Hall  was  illuminated.  The  rest  of  the  place 
was  wrapped  now  in  darkness.  He  walked  up  to  the 
boat-house.  The  door  was  still  locked.  There  was 


250      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

no  sign  that  any  one  had  been  there.  Reluctantly 
at  last  he  re-entered  the  Tower  and  made  his  way 
up-stairs. 

"  Confound  that  fellow  Kinsley ! "  he  muttered,  as 
he  threw  off  his  overcoat.  "  All  his  silly  suggestions 
and  melodramatic  ideas  have  given  me  a  fit  of  nerves. 
I  am  going  to  bed,  and  I  am  going  to  sleep.  That 
couldn't  have  been  a  light  I  saw  at  all.  I  couldn't 
have  heard  anything.  I  am  going  to  sleep." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

Hamel  awoke  to  find  his  room  filled  with  sunshine 
and  a  soft  wind  blowing  in  through  the  open  window. 
There  was  a  pleasant  odour  of  coffee  floating  up  from 
the  kitchen.  He  looked  at  his  watch  —  it  was 
past  eight  o'clock.  The  sea  was  glittering  and  be- 
spangled with  sunlight.  He  found  among  his  scanty 
belongings  a  bathing  suit,  and,  wrapped  in  his  over- 
coat, hurried  down-stairs. 

"  Breakfast  in  half  an  hour,  Mrs.  Cox,"  he  called 
out. 

She  stood  at  the  door,  watching  him  as  he  stepped 
across  the  pebbles  and  plunged  in.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments he  swam.  Then  he  turned  over  on  his  back. 
The  sunlight  was  gleaming  from  every  window  of  St. 
David's  Hall.  He  even  fancied  that  upon  the  ter- 
race he  could  see  a  white-clad  figure  looking  towards 
him.  He  turned  over  and  swam  once  more.  From 
her  place  in  the  doorway  Mrs.  Cox  called  out  to 
him. 

"  Mind  the  Dagger  Rocks,  sir !  " 

He  waved  his  hand.  The  splendid  exhilaration  of 
the  salt  water  seemed  to  give  him  unlimited  courage. 
He  dived,  but  the  woman's  cry  of  fear  soon  recalled 
him.  Presently  he  swam  to  shore  and  hurried  up  the 
beach.  Mrs.  Cox,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  disappeared 
into  the  kitchen. 

"  Those  rocks  on  your  nerves  again,  Mrs.  Cox?  " 


252      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

he  asked,  good-humouredly,  as  he  took  his  place  at 
the  breakfast  table  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later. 

"  It's  only  us  who  live  here,  sir,"  she  answered, 
"  who  know  how  terrible  they  are.  There's  one  — 
it  comes  up  like  my  hand  —  a  long  spike.  A  boat 
once  struck  upon  that,  and  it's  as  though  it'd  been 
sawn  through  the  middle." 

"  I  must  have  a  look  at  them  some  day,"  he  de- 
clared. "  I  am  going  to  work  this  morning,  Mrs. 
Cox.  Lunch  at  one  o'clock." 

He  took  rugs  and  established  himself  with  a  pile 
of  books  at  the  back  of  a  grassy  knoll,  sheltered  from 
the  wind,  with  the  sea  almost  at  his  feet.  He  sharp- 
ened his  pencil  and  numbered  the  page  of  his  note- 
book. Then  he  looked  up  towards  the  Hall  garden 
and  found  himself  dreaming.  The  sunshine  was  de- 
licious, and  a  gentle  optimism  seemed  to  steal  over 
him. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  "  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  I  am 
catching  some  part  of  these  people's  folly.  Mr. 
Pentolin  is  only  an  ordinary,  crotchety  invalid 
with  queer  tastes.  On  the  big  things  he  is  prob- 
ably like  other  men.  I  shall  go  to  him  this  morn- 
ing." 

A  sea-gull  screamed  over  his  head.  Little,  brown- 
sailed  fishing-boats  came  gliding  down  the  harbour 
way.  A  pleasant,  sensuous  joy  fulness  seemed  part  of 
the  spirit  of  the  day.  Hamel  stretched  himself  out 
upon  the  dry  sand. 

"  Work  be  hanged !  "  he  exclaimed. 

A  soft  voice  answered  him  almost  in  his  ear,  a 
voice  which  was  becoming  very  familiar. 

"  A  most  admirable  sentiment,  my  young  friend. 


THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER      253 

which  you  seem  to  be  doing  your  best  to  live  up  to. 
Not  a  line  written,  I  see." 

He  sat  up  upon  his  rug.  Mr.  Fentolin,  in  his  lit- 
tle carriage,  was  there  by  his  side.  Behind  was  the 
faithful  Meekins,  with  an  easel  under  his  arm. 

"  I  trust  that  your  first  night  in  your  new  abode 
has  been  a  pleasant  one?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  asked. 

"  I  slept  quite  well,  thanks,"  Hamel  replied. 
"  Glad  to  see  you're  going  to  paint." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  It  is,  alas !  "  he  declared,  "  one  of  my  weaknesses. 
I  can  work  only  in  solitude.  I  came  down  on  the 
chance  that  the  fine  weather  might  have  tempted  you 
over  to  the  Golf  Club.  As  it  is,  I  shall  return." 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,"  Hamel  said.  "  Can't  I  go 
out  of  sight  somewhere?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  I  will  not  ask  your  pardon  for  my  absurd  hu- 
mours," he  continued,  a  little  sadly.  "  Their  exist- 
ence, however,  I  cannot  deny.  I  will  wait." 

"  It  seems  a  pity  for  you  to  do  that,"  Hamel  re- 
marked. "  You  see,  I  might  stay  here  for  some 
time." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  face  darkened.  He  looked  at  the 
young  man  with  a  sort  of  pensive  wrath. 

"  If,"  the  latter  went  on,  "  you  say  *  yes  '  to  some- 
thing I  am  going  to  ask  you,  I  might  even  stay  — 
in  the  neighbourhood  —  for  longer  still." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sat  quite  motionless  in  his  chair;  his 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  Hamel. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  are  going  to  ask  me?  "  he 
demanded. 

"  I  want  to  marry  your  niece." 


254      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

Mr.  Fentolin  looked  at  the  young  man  in  mild 
surprise. 

"A  sudden  decision  on  your  part,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 
he  murmured. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Hamel  assured  him.  "  I  have  been 
ten  years  looking  for  her." 

"And  the  young  lady?"  Mr.  Fentolin  enquired. 
"  What  does  she  say?  " 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  Hamel  replied,  "  that  she  would 
be  willing." 

Mr.  Fentolin  sighed. 

"  One  is  forced  sometimes,"  he  remarked  regret- 
fully, "  to  realise  the  selfishness  of  our  young  peo- 
ple. For  many  years  one  devotes  oneself  to  provid- 
ing them  with  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life. 
Then,  in  a  single  day,  they  turn  around  and  give 
everything  they  have  to  give  to  a  stranger.  So  you 
want  to  marry  Esther?  " 

"  If  you  please." 

"  She  has  a  very  moderate  fortune." 

"  She  need  have  none  at  all,"  Hamel  replied ;  "  I 
have  enough." 

Mr.  Fentolin  glanced  towards  the  house. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I  think  you  had  better  go 
and  tell  her  so;  in  which  case,  I  shall  be  able  to 
paint." 

"  I  have  your  permission,  then?  "  Hamel  asked, 
/ising  to  his  feet  eagerly. 

"  Negatively,"  Mr.  Fentolin  agreed,  "  you  have. 
t  cannot  refuse.  Esther  is  of  age ;  the  thing  is  rea- 
sonable. I  do  not  know  whether  she  will  be  happy 
with  you  or  not.  A  young  man  of  your  disposition 
who  declines  to  study  the  whims  of  an  unfortunate 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      255 

creature  like  myself  is  scarcely  likely  to  be  possessed 
of  much  sensibility.  However,  perhaps  your  views 
as  to  a  solitary  residence  here  will  change  with  your 
engagement  to  my  niece." 

Hamel  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  He  was  try- 
ing to  ask  himself  why,  even  in  the  midst  of  this  rush 
of  anticipatory  happiness,  he  should  be  conscious  of 
a  certain  reluctance  to  leave  the  Tower  —  and  Mr. 
Fentolin.  He  was  looking  longingly  towards  the 
Hall.  Mr.  Fentolin  waved  him  away. 

"  Go  and  make  love,"  he  ordered,  "  and  leave  me 
alone.  We  are  both  in  pursuit  of  beauty  —  only 
our  methods  differ." 

Hamel  hesitated  no  longer  but  walked  up  the  nar- 
now  path  with  swift,  buoyant  footsteps.  Every- 
where he  seemed  to  be  surrounded  by  the  glorious 
spring  sunshine.  It  glittered  in  the  little  pools  and 
creeks  by  his  side.  It  drew  a  new  colour  from  the 
dun-coloured  marshes,  the  masses  of  emerald  seaweed, 
the  shimmering  sands.  It  flashed  in  the  long  row  of 
windows  of  the  Hall.  As  he  drew  nearer,  he  could 
see  the  banks  of  yellow  crocuses  in  the  sloping  gar- 
dens behind.  There  were  odours  of  spring  in  the  air. 
He  ran  lightly  up  the  terrace  steps.  There  was  an 
easy-chair  drawn  into  her  favourite  corner,  and  a 
book  upon  the  table,  but  no  sign  of  Esther.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a  moment,  and  then,  retracing  his  steps 
along  the  terrace,  entered  the  house  by  the  front 
door,  which  stood  wide  open.  There  was  no  one  in 
the  hall,  scarcely  a  sound  about  the  place.  A  great 
clock  ticked  solemnly  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
There  was  not  even  a  servant  in  sight.  Hamel  wan- 
dered around,  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  He  opened  the 


256      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

door  of  the  drawing-room  and  looked  in.  It  was 
empty.  He  turned  away,  meaning  to  ring  a  bell. 
On  his  way  across  the  hall  he  paused.  A  curiously 
suggestive  sound  reached  him  faintly  from  the  end 
of  one  of  the  passages.  It  was  the  click  of  a  type- 
writer. 

Hamel  stood  for  a  moment  perfectly  still.  He  had 
hurried  up  to  the  Hall,  filled  with  the  one  selfish  joy 
common  to  all  mankind.  He  had  had  no  thought 
save  the  thought  of  seeing  Esther.  The  click  of  that 
machine  brought  him  back  to  the  stern  realities  of 
life.  He  remembered  his  talk  to  Kinsley,  his  prom- 
ise. On  the  hall  table  he  could  see  from  where  he  was 
standing  the  great  headlines  which  announced  the  na- 
tion's anxiety.  He  was  in  the  house  of  a  suspected 
spy.  The  click  of  the  typewriter  was  an  accompani- 
ment to  his  thought.  He  looked  around  once  more 
and  listened.  Then  he  made  his  way  quietly  across 
the  hall  and  down  the  long  passage,  at  the  end  of 
which  the  room  which  Mr.  Fentolin  called  his  work- 
room was  situated.  He  turned  the  handle  of  the  door 
and  entered,  closing  it  immediately  behind  him.  The 
woman  who  was  typing  paused  with  her  fingers  upon 
the  keys.  Her  eyes  met  his  coldly,  without  curios- 
ity. She  had  paused  in  her  work,  but  she  took  no 
other  notice  of  his  coming. 

"  Has  Mr.  Fentolin  sent  you  here  ?  "  she  asked  at 
last. 

He  came  over  to  the  typewriter. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  has  not  sent  me,"  he  said  slowly. 
44 1  am  here  on  my  own  account.  I  dare  say  you  will 
think  that  I  am  a  lunatic  to  come  to  you  like  this. 
Nevertheless,  please  listen  to  me." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      257 

Her  fingers  left  the  keys.  She  laid  her  hands  upon 
the  table  in  front  of  her.  He  drew  a  little  nearer. 
She  covered  over  the  sheets  of  paper  with  which  she 
was  surrounded  with  a  pad  of  blotting-paper.  He 
pointed  suddenly  to  them. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that?  "  he  demanded.  "  What  is 
there  in  your  work  that  you  are  afraid  I  might  see?  '* 

She  answered  him  without  hesitation. 

"  These  are  private  papers  of  Mr.  Fentolin's. 
No  one  has  any  business  to  see  them.  No  one  has 
any  business  to  enter  this  room.  Why  are  you 
here?" 

"  I  came  to  the  Hall  to  find  Miss  Fentolin,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  heard  the  click  of  your  typewriter.  I 
came  to  you,  I  suppose  I  should  say,  on  impulse." 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  his,  filled  with  a  cold  and 
questioning  light. 

"  There's  an  impression  up  in  London,"  Hamel 
went  on,  "  that  Mr.  Fentolin  has  been  interfering  by 
means  of  his  wireless  in  affairs  which  don't  concern 
him,  and  giving  away  valuable  information.  This 
man  Dunster's  disappearance  is  as  yet  unexplained. 
I  feel  myself  justified  in  making  certain  investiga- 
tions, and  among  the  first  of  them  I  should  like  you  to 
tell  me  exactly  the  nature  of  the  work  for  which  Mr. 
Fentolin  finds  a  secretary  necessary?  " 

She  glanced  towards  the  bell.  He  moved  to  the 
edge  of  the  table  as  though  to  intercept  her. 

"  In  any  ordinary  case,"  he  continued,  "  I  would 
not  ask  you  to  betray  your  employer's  confidence. 
As  things  are,  I  think  I  am  justified.  You  are  Eng- 
lish, are  you  not?  You  realise,  I  suppose,  that  the 
country  is  on  the  brink  of  war?  " 


258      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

She  looked  at  him  from  the  depths  of  her  still,  lus- 
terless  eyes. 

"  You  must  be  a  very  foolish  person,"  she  re- 
marked, "  if  you  expect  to  obtain  information  in  this 
manner." 

"  Perhaps  I  am?"  he  confessed,  "  but  my  folly  has 
brought  me  to  you,  and  you  can  give  me  the  informa- 
tion if  you  will." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Fentolin  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Down  at  the  Tower,"  he  replied.  "  I  left  him 
there.  He  sent  me  up  to  see  Miss  Fentolin.  I  was 
looking  for  her  when  the  click  of  your  typewriter  re- 
minded me  of  other  things." 

She  turned  composedly  back  to  her  work. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  you  had  better  go  and 
find  Miss  Fentolin." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense !  You  can't  think  I  have 
risked  giving  myself  away  to  you  for  nothing?  I 
mean  to  search  this  room,  to  read  the  papers  which 
you  are  typing." 

She  glanced  around  her  a  little  contemptuously. 

"  You  are  welcome,"  she  assured  him.  "  Pray 
proceed." 

They  exchanged  the  glances  of  duelists.  Her 
plain  black  frock  was  buttoned  up  to  her  throat. 
Her  colourless  face  seemed  set  in  exact  and  expres- 
sionless lines.  Her  eyes  were  like  windows  of  glass. 
He  felt  only  their  scrutiny;  nothing  of  the  reason 
for  it,  or  of  the  thoughts  which  stirred  behind  in  her 
brain.  There  was  nothing  about  her  attitude  which 
seemed  in  any  way  threatening,  yet  he  had  the  feel- 
ing that  in  this  interview  it  was  she  who  possessed 
the  upper  hand. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      259 

"  You  are  a  foolish  person,"  she  said  calmly. 
"  You  are  so  foolish  that  you  are  not,  in  all  proba- 
bility, in  the  slightest  degree  dangerous.  Believe 
me,  ours  is  an  unequal  duel.  There  is  a  bell  upon 
this  table  which  has  apparently  escaped  your  no- 
tice. I  sit  with  my  finger  upon  the  button  —  so. 
I  have  only  to  press  it,  and  the  servants  will  be  here. 
I  do  not  wish  to  press  it.  I  do  not  desire  that  you 
should  be,  as  you  certainly  would  be,  banished  from 
this  house." 

He  was  immensely  puzzled.  She  had  not  resented 
his  strange  intrusion.  She  had  accepted  it,  indeed, 
with  curious  equanimity.  Her  forefinger  lingered 
still  over  the  little  ivory  knob  of  the  bell  attached 
to  her  desk.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  he  admitted,  a 
little  curtly.  "  All  the  same,  I  think  I  could  possess 
myself  of  those  sheets  of  paper,  you  know,  before  the 
bell  was  answered." 

"  Would  it  be  wise,  I  wonder,  then,  to  ensure  their 
safety?  "  she  asked  coolly. 

Her  finger  pressed  the  bell.  He  took  a  quick  step 
forward.  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Stop !  "  she  ordered.  "  These  sheets  will  tell 
you  nothing  which  you  do  not  know  already  unless 
you  are  a  fool.  Never  mind  the  bell.  That  is  my 
affair.  I  am  sending  you  away." 

He  leaned  a  little  towards  her. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  possible  to  bribe  you,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  wonder  you  haven't  tried  that  before.  No,  it 
would  not  —  not  with  money,  that  is  to  say." 


260      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"You'll  tell  Mr.  Fentolin,  I  presume?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  him,"  she  replied.  "  Noth- 
ing has  happened.  Richards,"  she  went  on,  as  a 
servant  entered  the  room,  "  Mr.  Hamel  is  looking  for 
Miss  Fentolin.  Will  you  see  if  you  can  find  her?  " 

The  man's  expression  was  full  of  polite  regret. 

"  Miss  Fentolin  went  over  to  Legh  Woods  early 
this  morning,  sir,"  he  announced.  "  She  is  staying 
to  lunch  with  Lady  Saxthorpe." 

Hamel  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  window.  In  the  far  distance  he  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Tower.  Mr.  Fentolin's  chair 
had  disappeared  from  the  walk. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  must  have  made  a  mis- 
take. I  will  hurry  back." 

There  were  more  questions  which  he  was  longing 
to  ask,  but  the  cold  negativeness  of  her  manner 
chilled  him.  She  sat  with  her  fingers  poised  over 
the  keys,  waiting  for  his  departure.  He  turned  and 
left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Mr.  Fentolin,  his  carriage  drawn  up  close  to  the 
beach,  was  painting  steadily  when  Hamel  stood  once 
more  by  his  side.  His  eyes  moved  only  from  the 
sea  to  the  canvas.  He  never  turned  his  head. 

"  So  your  wooing  has  not  prospered,  my  young 
friend,"  he  remarked  gently.  "  I  am  sorry.  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  ?  " 

"  Your  niece  has  gone  out  to  lunch,"  Hamel  re- 
plied shortly. 

Mr.  Fentolin  stopped  painting.  Plis  face  was  full 
of  concern  as  he  looked  up  at  Hamel. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  can  I  apolo- 
gise! Of  course  she  has  gone  out  to  lunch.  She 
has  gone  out  to  Lady  Saxthorpe's.  I  remember  the 
subject  being  discussed.  I  myself,  in  fact,  was  the 
instigator  of  her  going.  I  owe  you  a  thousand 
apologies,  Mr.  Hamel.  Let  me  make  what  amends 
are  possible  for  your  useless  journey.  Dine  with  us 
to-night." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  A  poor  amends,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued.  "  A 
morning  like  this  was  made  for  lovers.  Sunshine  and 
blue  sky,  a  salt  breeze  flavoured  just  a  little  with  that 
lavender,  and  a  stroll  through  my  spring  gardens, 
where  my  hyacinths  are  like  a  field  of  purple  and 
gold,  a  mantle  of  jewels  upon  the  brown  earth.  Ah, 
well!  One's  thoughts  will  wander  to  the  beautiful 


262      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

things  of  life.     There  were  once  women  who  loved 
me,  Mr.  Hamel." 

Hamel  looked  doubtfully  at  the  strange  little  fig- 
ure in  the  chair.  Was  this  genuine,  he  wondered,  a 
voluntary  outburst,  or  was  it  some  subtle  attempt  to 
incite  sympathy?  Mr.  Fentolin  seemed  almost  to 
have  read  his  thought. 

"  It  is  not  for  the  sake  of  your  pity  that  I  say 
this,"  he  continued.  "  Mine  is  only  the  passing 
across  the  line  which  age  as  well  as  infirmity  makes 
inevitable.  No  one  in  the  world  who  lives  to  grow 
old,  and  who  has  loved  and  felt  the  fire  of  it  in  his 
veins,  can  pass  that  line  without  sorrow,  or  look  back 
without  a  pang.  I  am  among  a  great  army.  Well, 
well,  I  shall  paint  no  more  to-day,"  he  concluded 
abruptly. 

"  Where  is  your  servant?  "  Hamel  asked. 

Mr.  Fentolin  glanced  around  him  carelessly. 

"  He  has  wandered  away  out  of  sight.  He  knows 
well  how  necessary  solitude  is  to  me  if  once  I  take 
the  brush  between  my  fingers  —  solitude  natural  and 
entire,  I  mean.  If  any  one  is  within  a  dozen  yards 
of  me  I  know  it,  even  though  I  cannot  see  them. 
Meekins  is  wandering  somewhere  the  other  side  of 
the  Tower." 

"Shall  I  call  him?" 

"  On  no  account,"  Mr.  Fentolin  begged.  "  Pres 
ently  he  will  appear,  in  plenty  of  time.  There  is  the 
morning  to  be  passed  —  barely  eleven  o'clock,  I 
think,  now.  I  shall  sit  in  my  chair,  and  sink  a  little 
down,  and  dream  of  these  beautiful  lights,  these  roll- 
ing, foam-flecked  waves,  these  patches  of  blue  and 
shifting  green.  I  can  form  them  in  my  brain.  I 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      263 

can  make  a  picture  there,  even  though  my  fingers  re- 
fuse to  move.  You  are  not  an  aesthete,  I  think,  Mr. 
Hamel?  The  study  of  beauty  does  not  mean  to  you 
what  it  did  to  your  father,  and  my  father,  and,  in 
a  smaller  way  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Hamel  confessed.  "  I  believe  I 
feel  these  things  somewhere,  because  they  bring  a 
queer  sense  of  content  with  them.  I  am  afraid, 
though,  that  my  artistic  perceptions  are  not  so  keen 
as  some  men's." 

Mr.  Fentolin  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  It  is  the  physical  life  in  your  veins  —  too  splen- 
did to  permit  you  abstract  pleasures.  Compensa- 
tions again,  you  see  —  compensations.  I  wonder 
what  the  law  is  that  governs  these  things.  I  have 
forgotten  sometimes,"  he  went  on,  "  forgotten  my 
own  infirmities  in  the  soft  intoxication  of  a  wonder- 
ful seascape.  Only,"  he  went  on,  his  face  a  little 
grey,  "  it  is  the  physical  in  life,  which  triumphs. 
There  are  the  hungry  hours  which  nothing  will  sat- 
isfy." 

His  head  sank,  his  chin  rested  upon  his  chest.  He 
had  all  the  appearance  now  of  a  man  who  talks  in 
bitter  earnest.  Yet  Hamel  wondered.  He  looked 
towards  the  Tower;  there  was  no  sign  of  Meekins. 
The  sea-gulls  went  screaming  above  their  heads.  Mr. 
Fentolin  never  moved.  His  eyes  seemed  half  closed. 
It  was  only  when  Hamel  rose  to  his  feet  that  he 
looked  swiftly  up. 

"  Stay  with  me,  I  beg  you,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  in  one  of  the  moods  when  solitude,  even  for  a 
moment,  is  dangerous.  Do  you  know  what  I  have 
sometimes  thought  to  myself?  " 


264      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

He  pointed  to  the  planked  way  which  led  down  the 
steep,  pebbly  beach  to  the  sea. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  he  went  on,  "  that 
it  would  be  glorious  to  find  a  friend  to  stand  by 
my  side  at  the  top  of  the  planks,  just  there,  when 
the  tide  was  high,  and  to  bid  him  loose  my  chair 
and  to  steer  it  myself,  to  steer  it  down  the  narrow 
path  into  the  arms  of  the  sea.  The  first  touch  of  the 
salt  waves,  the  last  touch  of  life.  Why  not?  One 
sleeps  without  fear." 

He  lifted  his  head  suddenly.  Meekins  had  ap- 
peared, coming  round  from  the  back  of  the  Tower. 
Instantly  Mr.  Fentolin's  whole  manner  changed. 
He  sat  up  in  his  chair. 

"  It  is  arranged,  then,"  he  said.  "  You  dine  with 
us  to-night.  For  the  other  matters  of  which  you 
have  spoken,  well,  let  them  rest  in  the  hands  of  the 
gods.  You  are  not  very  kind  to  me.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  you  would  make  Esther  a  good  husband.  I 
am  not  sure,  even,  that  I  like  you.  You  take  no 
pains  to  make  yourself  agreeable.  Considering  that 
your  father  was  an  artist,  you  seem  to  me  rather  a 
dull  and  uninspired  young  man.  But  who  can  tell? 
There  may  be  things  stirring  beneath  that  torpid 
brain  of  yours  of  which  no  other  person  knows  save 
yourself," 

The  concentrated  gaze  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  keen  eyes 
was  hard  to  meet,  but  Hamel  came  out  of  the  ordeal 
without  flinching. 

"  At  eight  o'clock,  Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  answered. 
'*  I  can  see  that  I  must  try  to  earn  your  better 
opinion." 

Hamel    read    steadily    for   the    remainder   of    the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      265 

morning.  It  was  past  one  o'clock  when  he  rose 
stiffly  from  his  seat  among  the  sand  knolls  and, 
strolling  back  to  the  Tower,  opened  the  door  and 
entered.  The  cloth  was  laid  for  luncheon  in  the 
little  sitting-room,  but  there  were  no  signs  of  Han- 
nah Cox.  He  passed  on  into  the  kitchen  and  came 
to  a  sudden  standstill.  Once  more  the  memory  of 
his  own  work  passed  away  from  him.  Once  more  he 
was  back  again  among  that  queer,  clouded  tangle 
of  strange  suspicions,  of  thrilling,  half-formed  fears, 
which  had  assailed  him  at  times  ever  since  his  arrival 
at  St.  David's.  He  stopped  quite  short.  The  words 
which  rose  to  his  lips  died  away.  He  felt  the  breath- 
less, compelling  need  for  silence  and  grew  tense  in 
the  effort  to  make  no  sound. 

Hannah  Cox  was  kneeling  on  the  stone  floor.  Her 
ear  was  close  to  the  crack  of  the  door  which  led  into 
the  boat-house.  Her  face,  half  turned  from  it,  was 
set  in  a  strange,  concentrated  passion  of  listening; 
her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes  half  closed.  She  took 
no  more  notice  of  Hamel  or  his  arrival  than  if  he 
had  been  some  useless  piece  of  furniture.  Every 
faculty  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  that  one  intense  ef- 
fort of  listening.  There  was  no  need  of  her  out- 
stretched finger.  Hamel  fell  in  at  once  with  a  mood 
so  mesmeric.  He,  too,  listened.  The  small  clock 
which  she  had  brought  with  her  from  the  village 
ticked  away  upon  the  mantelpiece.  The  full  sea  fell 
with  placid  softness  upon  the  high  beach  outside. 
Some  slight  noise  of  cooking  came  from  the  stove. 
Save  for  these  things  there  was  silence.  Yet,  for  a 
space  of  time  which  Hamel  could  never  have  meas- 
ured, they  both  listened.  When  at  last  the  womaa 


266      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

rose  to  her  feet,  Hamel,  finding  words  at  last,  was 
surprised  to  find  that  his  throat  was  dry. 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Cox?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  were 
you  listening  there  ?  " 

Her  face  was  absolutely  expressionless.  She  was 
busying  herself  now  with  a  small  saucepan,  and  her 
back  was  turned  towards  him. 

"  I  spend  my  life,  sir,"  she  said,  "  listening  and 
waiting.  One  never  knows  when  the  end  may  come." 

"  But  the  boat-house,"  Hamel  objected.  "  No 
one  has  been  in  there  this  morning,  have  they?  " 

"Who  can  tell?"  she  answered.  "He  could  go 
anywhere  when  he  chose,  or  how  he  chose  —  through 
the  keyhole,  if  he  wanted." 

"  But  why  listen?  "  Hamel  persisted.  "  There  is 
nothing  in  there  now  but  some  odds  and  ends  of  ma- 
chinery." 

She  turned  from  the  fire  and  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment.  Her  eyes  were  colourless,  her  tone  unemo- 
tional. 

"  Maybe !     There's  no  harm  in  listening." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  which  made  you  want  to 
listen?  " 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  "  she  answered.  "  A  woman  who 
lives  well-nigh  alone,  as  I  live,  in  a  quiet  place,  hears 
things  so  often  that  other  folk  never  listen  to. 
There's  always  something  in  my  ears,  night  or  day. 
Sometimes  I  am  not  sure  whether  it's  in  this  world 
or  the  other.  It  was  like  that  with  me  just  then. 
It  was  for  that  reason  I  listened.  Your  luncheon's 
ready,  sir." 

Hamel  walked  thoughtfully  back  into  his  sitting- 
room.  He  seated  himself  before  a  spotless  cloth  and 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      267 

watched  Hannah  Cox  spread  out  his  well-cooked, 
cleanly-served  meal. 

"  If  there's  anything  you  want,  sir,"  she  said, 
"  I  shall  hear  you  at  a  word.  The  kitchen  door  is 
open." 

"  One  moment,  Mrs.  Cox." 

She  lingered  there  patiently,  with  the  tray  in  her 
hand. 

"  There  was  some  sound,"  Hamel  continued,  "  per- 
haps a  real  sound,  perhaps  a  fancy,  which  made  you 
go  down  on  your  knees  in  the  kitchen.  Tell  me  what 
it  was." 

"  The  sound  I  always  hear,  sir,"  she  answered 
quietly.  "  I  hear  it  in  the  night,  and  I  hear  it  when 
I  stand  by  the  sea  and  look  out.  I  have  heard  it  for 
so  many  years  that  who  can  tell  whether  it  comes  from 
this  world  or  the  other  • —  the  cry  of  men  who  die !  " 

She  passed  out.  Hamel  looked  after  her,  for  a 
moment,  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  In  his  fancy  he 
could  see  her  back  again  once  more  in  the  kitchen, 
kneeling  on  the  stone  floor, —  listening ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  cold  twilight  had  fallen  upon  the  land  when 
Hamel  left  the  Tower  that  evening  and  walked  briskly 
along  the  foot-way  to  the  Hall.  Little  patches  of 
mist  hung  over  the  creeks,  the  sky  was  almost  frosty. 
The  lights  from  St.  David's  Hall  shone  like  cheerful 
beacons  before  him.  He  hastened  up  the  stone  steps, 
crossed  the  terrace,  and  passed  into  the  hall.  A 
servant  conducted  him  at  once  to  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Fentolin,  in  a  pink  evening  dress,  with  a 
pink  ornament  in  her  hair,  held  out  both  her  hands. 
In  the  background,  Mr.  Fentolin,  in  his  queerly- 
cut  evening  clothes,  sat  with  folded  arms,  lean- 
ing back  in  his  carriage.  He  listened  grimly  to  his 
sister-in-law  as  she  stood  with  Hamel's  hands  in 
hers. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Hamel !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How 
perfectly  charming  of  you  to  come  up  and  relieve  a 
little  our  sad  loneliness!  Delightful,  I  call  it,  of 
you.  I  was  just  saying  so  to  Miles." 

Hamel  looked  around  the  room.  Already  his  heart 
was  beginning  to  sink. 

"  Miss  Fentolin  is  well,  I  hope?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  but  a  very  naughty  girl,"  her  mother  de- 
clared. "  I  let  her  go  to  Lady  Saxthorpe's  to  lunch, 
and  now  we  have  had  simply  the  firmest  letter  from 
Lady  Saxthorpe.  They  insist  upon  keeping  Esther 
to  dine  and  sleep.  I  have  had  to  send  her  evening 


26g 

clothes,  but  you  can't  tell,  Mr.  Hamel,  how  I  miss 
her." 

Hamel's  disappointment  was  a  little  too  obvious  to 
pass  unnoticed.  There  was  a  shade  of  annoyance, 
too,  in  his  face.  Mr.  Fentolin  smoothly  intervened. 

"  Let  us  be  quite  candid  with  Mr.  Hamel,  dear 
Florence,"  he  begged.  "  I  have  spoken  to  my  sister- 
in-law  and  told  her  the  substance  of  our  conversation 
this  morning,"  he  proceeded,  wheeling  his  chair  nearer 
to  Hamel.  "  She  is  thunderstruck.  She  wishes  to 
reflect,  to  consider.  Esther  chanced  to  be  away. 
We  have  encouraged  her  absence  for  a  few  more 
hours." 

"  I  hope,  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  Hamel  said  simply, 
*'  that  you  will  give  her  to  me.  I  am  not  a  rich  man, 
but  I  am  fairly  well  off.  I  should  be  willing  to  live 
exactly  where  Esther  wishes,  and  I  would  do  my  best 
to  make  her  happy." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  opened  her  lips  once  and  closed 
them  again.  She  laughed  a  little  —  a  high-pitched, 
semi-hysterical  laugh.  The  hand  which  gripped  her 
fan  was  straining  so  that  the  blue  veins  stood  out 
almost  like  whipcord. 

"  Esther  is  very  young,  Mr.  Hamel.  We  must 
talk  this  over.  You  have  known  her  for  such  a  very 
short  time." 

A  servant  announced  dinner,  And  Hamel  offered  his 
arm  to  his  hostess. 

*'  Is  Gerald  away,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  do  indeed  owe  you  our  apologies,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin declared.  "  Gerald  is  spending  a  couple  of 
days  at  the  Dormy  House  at  Brancaster  —  a  golf  ar- 
rangement made  some  time  back." 


270      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  He  promised  to  play  with  me  to-morrow,"  Hamel 
remarked  thoughtfully.  **  He  said  nothing  about  go- 
ing away." 

"  I  fear  that  like  most  young  men  of  his  age  he 
has  little  memory,"  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed.  "  How- 
ever, he  will  be  back  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.  I 
owe  you  my  apologies,  Mr.  Hamel,  for  our  lack  of 
young  people.  We  must  do  our  best  to  entertain  our 
guest,  Florence.  You  must  be  at  your  best,  dear. 
You  must  tell  him  some  of  those  capital  stories  of 
yours." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  shivered  for  a  moment.  Hamel,  as 
he  handed  her  to  her  place,  was  struck  by  a  strange 
look  which  she  threw  upon  him,  half  furtive,  full  of 
pain.  Her  hand  almost  clung  to  his.  She  slipped  a 
little,  and  he  held  her  tightly.  Then  he  was  sud- 
denly conscious  that  something  hard  was  being 
pressed  into  his  palm.  He  drew  his  hand  away  at 
once. 

"  You  seem  a  little  unsteady  this  evening,  my  dear 
Florence,"  Mr.  Fentolin  remarked,  peering  across  the 
round  table. 

She  eyed  him  nonchalantly  enough. 

"  The  floor  is  slippery,"  she  said.  "  I  was  glad, 
for  a  moment,  of  Mr.  Hamel's  strong  hand.  Where 
are  those  dear  puppies?  Chow-Chow,"  she  went  on, 
"  come  and  sit  by  your  mistress  at  once." 
.  Hamel's  fingers  inside  his  waistcoat  pocket  were 
smoothing  out  the  crumpled  piece  of  paper  which 
she  had  passed  to  him.  Soon  he  had  it  quite  flat. 
Mrs.  Fentolin,  as  though  freed  from  some  anxiety, 
chattered  away  gaily. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  apologise  to  Mr.  Hamel 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      271 

at  all  for  the  young  people  being  away,"  she  de- 
clared. "  Just  fancy  what  we  have  saved  him  from 
—  a  solitary  meal  served  by  Hannah  Cox !  Do  you 
know  that  they  say  she  is  half-witted,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 

"  So  far,  she  has  looked  after  me  very  well,"  Hamel 
observed. 

"  Her  intellect  is  defective,"  Mr.  Fentolin  re- 
marked, "  on  one  point  only.  The  good  woman  is 
obsessed  by  the  idea  that  her  husband  and  sons  are 
still  calling  to  her  from  the  Dagger  Rocks.  It  is  al- 
most pitiful  to  meet  her  wandering  about  there  on 
a  stormy  night.  The  seacoasts  are  full  of  these  little 
village  tragedies  —  real  tragedies,  too,  however  in- 
significant they  may  seem  to  us." 

Mr.  Fentolin's  tone  was  gently  sympathetic.  He 
changed  the  subject  a  moment  or  two  later,  how- 
ever. 

"  Nero  fiddles  to-night,"  he  said,  "  while  Rome 
burns.  There  are  hundreds  in  our  position,  yet  it 
certainly  seems  queer  that  we  should  be  sitting  here 
so  quietly  when  the  whole  country  is  in  such  a  state 
of  excitement.  I  see  the  press  this  morning  is  preach- 
ing an  immediate  declaration  of  war." 

"  Against  whom  ?  "  Mrs.  Fentolin  asked. 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled. 

"  That  does  seem  to  be  rather  the  trouble,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "  Russia,  Austria,  Germany,  Italy,  and 
France  are  all  assisting  at  a  Conference  to  which  no 
English  representative  has  been  bidden.  In  a  sense, 
of  course,  that  is  equivalent  to  an  act  of  hostility 
from  all  these  countries  towards  England.  The 
question  is  whether  we  have  or  have  not  a  secret 
understanding  with  France,  and  if  so,  how  far  she 


272      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

will  be  bound  by  it.  There  is  a  rumour  that  when 
Monsieur  Deschelles  was  asked  formally  whom  he  rep- 
resented, that  he  replied  — '  France  and  Great 
Britain.'  There  may  be  something  in  it.  It  is  hard 
to  see  how  any  English  statesman  could  have  left 
unguarded  the  Mediterranean,  with  all  that  it  means, 
trusting  simply  to  the  faith  of  a  country  with  whom 
we  have  no  binding  agreement.  On  the  other  hand* 
there  is  the  mobilisation  of  the  fleet.  If  France  is 
really  faithful,  one  wonders  if  there  was  need  for  such 
an  extreme  step." 

"  I  am  out  of  touch  with  political  affairs,"  Hamel 
declared.  "  I  have  been  away  from  England  for  so 
long." 

"  I,  on  the  other  hand,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued,  his 
eyes  glittering  a  little,  "  have  made  the  study  of  the 
political  situation  in  Europe  my  hobby  for  years.  I 
have  sent  to  me  the  leading  newspapers  of  Berlin, 
Rome,  Paris,  St.  Petersburg,  and  Vienna.  For  two 
hours  every  day  I  read  them,  side  by  side.  It  is 
curious  sometimes  to  note  the  common  understanding 
which  seems  to  exist  between  the  Powers  not  bound 
by  any  formal  alliance.  For  years  war  seemed  a  very 
unlikely  thing,  and  now,"  he  added,  leaning  forward 
in  his  chair,  "  I  pronounce  it  almost  a  certainty." 

Hainel  looked  at  his  host  a  little  curiously.  Mr. 
Fentolin's  gentleness  of  expression  seemed  to  have  de- 
parted. His  face  was  hard,  his  eyes  agleam.  He 
had  almost  the  look  of  a  bird  of  prey.  For  some  rea- 
son, the  thought  of  war  seemed  to  be  a  joy  to  him. 
Perhaps  he  read  something  of  Hamel's  wonder  in  his 
expression,  for  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  he  dis- 
missed the  subject. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      273 

"  Well,"  he  concluded,  "  all  these  things  lie  on  the 
knees  of  the  gods.  I  dare  say  you  wonder,  Mr.  Hamei, 
why  a  poor  useless  creature  like  myself  should  take  the 
slightest  interest  in  passing  events?  It  is  just  the  fas- 
cination of  the  looker-on.  I  want  your  opinion  about 
that  champagne.  Florence  dear,  you  must  join  us. 
We  will  drink  to  Mr.  Hamel's  health.  We  will  per- 
haps couple  that  toast  in  our  minds  with  the  senti- 
ment which  I  am  sure  is  not  very  far  from  your 
thoughts,  Florence." 

Hamel  raised  his  glass  and  bowed  to  his  host  and 
hostess.  He  was  not  wholly  at  his  ease.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  being  watched  with  a  queer  per- 
sistence by  both  of  them.  Mrs.  Fentolin  continued 
to  talk  and  laugh  with  a  gaiety  which  was  too  ob- 
viously forced.  Mr.  Fentolin  posed  for  a  while  as 
the  benevolent  listener.  He  mildly  applauded  his 
sister-in-law's  stories,  and  encouraged  Hamel  in  the 
recital  of  some  of  his  reminiscences.  Suddenly  the 
door  was  opened.  Miss  Price  appeared.  She  walked 
smoothly  across  the  room  and  stood  by  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin's  side.  Stooping  down,  she  whispered  in  his 
«ar.  He  pushed  his  chair  back  a  little  from  the 
table.  His  face  was  dark  with  anger. 

"  I  said  not  before  ten  to-night,"  he  muttered. 

Again  she  spoke  in  his  ear,  so  softly  that  the  sound 
of  her  voice  itself  scarcely  travelled  even  as  far  as 
where  Hamel  was  sitting.  Mr.  Fentolin  looked  stead- 
fastly for  a  moment  at  his  sister-in-law  and  from 
her  to  Hamel.  Then  he  backed  his  chair  away  from, 
the  table. 

"  I  shall  have  to  ask  to  be  excused  for  three  min- 
utes," he  said.  "  I  must  speak  upon  the  telephone. 


274      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

It  is  a  call  from  some  one  who  declares  that  they 
have  important  news." 

He  turned  the  steering-wheel  of  his  chair,  and  with 
Miss  Price  by  his  side  passed  across  the  dining-room, 
out  of  the  oasis  of  rose-shaded  lights  into  the  shad- 
ows, and  through  the  open  door.  From  there  he 
turned  his  head  before  he  disappeared,  as  though  to 
watch  his  guest.  Mrs.  Fentolin  was  busy  fondling 
one  of  her  dogs,  which  she  had  raised  to  her  lap,  and 
Hamel  was  watching  her  with  a  tolerant  smile. 

"  Koto,  you  little  idiot,  why  can't  you  sit  up  like 
your  sister?  Was  its  tail  in  the  way,  then!  Mr. 
Hamel,"  she  whispered  under  her  breath,  so  softly 
that  he  barely  caught  the  words,  although  he  was 
only  a  few  feet  away,  "  don't  look  at  me.  I  feel  as 
though  we  were  being  watched  all  the  time.  You  can 
destroy  that  piece  of  paper  in  your  pocket.  All  that 
it  says  is  :  '  Leave  here  immediately  after  din- 
ner.' " 

Hamel  sipped  his  wine  in  a  nonchalant  fashion. 
His  fingers  had  strayed  over  the  silky  coat  of  the 
little  dog,  which  she  had  held  out  as  though  for  his 
inspection. 

"How  can  I?"  he  asked.  "What  excuse  can  I 
make?" 

"  Invent  one,"  she  insisted  swiftly.     "  Leave  here 
before  ten  o'clock.     Don't  let  anything  keep  you. 
And  destroy  that  piece  of  paper  in  your  pocket,  if 
you  can  —  now." 
.    "  But,  Mrs.  Fentolin  — "  he  began. 

She  caught  up  one  of  her  absurd  little  pets  and 
held  it  to  her  mouth. 

"  Meekins    is    in    the    doorway,"    she    whispered. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      275 

*'  Don't  argue  with  me,  please.     You  are  in  danger 
you  know  nothing  about.     Pass  me  the  cigarettes." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  smoking  quickly. 
She  held  one  of  the  dogs  on  her  knee  and  talked  rub- 
bish to  it.  Hamel  watched  her,  leaning  back  in  his 
carved  oak  chair,  and  he  found  it  hard  to  keep  the 
pity  from  his  eyes.  The  woman  was  playing  a  part, 
playing  it  with  desperate  and  pitiful  earnestness,  a 
part  which  seemed  the  more  tragical  because  of  the 
soft  splendour  of  their  surroundings.  From  the 
shadowy  walls,  huge,  dimly-seen  pictures  hung  about 
them,  a  strange  and  yet  impressive  background. 
Their  small  round  dining-table,  with  its  rare  cut 
glass,  its  perfect  appointments,  its  bowls  of  pink 
roses,  was  like  a  spot  of  wonderful  colour  in  the  great 
room.  Two  men  servants  stood  at  the  sideboard  a 
few  yards  away,  a  triumph  of  negativeness.  The 
butler,  who  had  been  absent  for  a  moment,  stood  now 
silently  waiting  behind  his  master's  place.  Hamel 
was  oppressed,  during  those  few  minutes  of  waiting, 
by  a  curious  sense  of  unreality,  as  though  he  were 
taking  part  in  some  strange  tableau.  There  was 
something  unreal  about  his  surroundings  and  his  own 
presence  there ;  something  unreal  in  the  atmosphere, 
charged  as  it  seemed  to  be  with  some  omen  of  im- 
pending happenings ;  something  unreal  in  that  whis- 
pered warning,  those  few  hoarsely  uttered  words 
which  had  stolen  to  his  hearing  across  the  clusters 
of  drooping  roses ;  the  absurd  babble  of  the  woman, 
who  sat  there  with  tragic  things  under  the  powder 
with  which  her  face  was  daubed. 

"  Koto  must  learn  to  sit  upon  his  tail  —  like  that. 
No,  not  another  grape  till  he  sits  up.  There,  then !  " 


276      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

4 

She  was  leaning  forward  with  a  grape  between 
her  teeth,  towards  the  tiny  animal  who  was  trying  in 
vain  to  balance  his  absurdly  shaped  little  body  upon 
the  tablecloth.  Hamel,  without  looking  around,  knew 
quite  well  what  was  happening.  Soon  he  heard  the 
click  of  the  chair.  Mr.  Fentolin  was  back  in  his 
place.  His  skin  seemed  paler  and  more  parchment- 
like  than  ever.  His  eyes  glittered. 

"  It  seems,"  he  announced  quietly,  as  he  raised  his 
wine-glass  to  his  lips  with  the  air  of  one  needing 
support,  "  that  we  entertained  an  angel  unawares 
here.  This  Mr.  Dunster  is  lost  for  the  second  time. 
A  very  important  personage  he  turns  out  to  be." 

"  You  mean  the  American  whom  Gerald  brought 
home  after  the  accident?  "  Mrs.  Fentolin  asked  care- 
lessly. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied.  "  He  insisted  upon 
continuing  his  journey  before  he  was  strong  enough. 
I  warned  him  of  what  might  happen.  He  has  evi- 
dently been  take  ill  somewhere.  It  seems  that  he  was 
on  his  way  to  The  Hague." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  has  disappeared  altogether 
this  time  ?  "  Hamel  asked. 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  he  has  found  his  way  to  The  Hague  safely 
enough.  He  is  lying  there  at  a  hotel  in  the  city, 
but  he  is  unconscious.  There  is  some  talk  about  his 
having  been  robbed  on  the  way.  At  any  rate,  they 
are  tracing  his  movements  backwards.  We  are  to  be 
honoured  with  a  visit  from  one  of  Scotland  Yard's  de- 
tectives, to  reconstruct  his  journey  from  here.  Our 
quiet  little  corner  of  the  world  is  becoming  quite 
notorious.  Florence  dear,  you  are  tired.  I  can 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      277 

see  it  in  your  eyes.  Your  headache  continues,  I  am 
sure.  We  will  not  be  selfish.  Mr.  Hamel  and  I  are 
going  to  have  a  long  evening  in  the  library.  Let 
me  recommend  a  phenacetin  and  bed." 

She  rose  at  once  to  her  feet,  with  a  dog  under 
either  arm. 

"  I'll  take  the  phenacetin,"  she  promised,  "  but  I 
hate  going  to  bed  early.  Shall  I  see  you  again,  I 
wonder,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 

"  Not  this  evening,  I  fear,"  he  answered.  "  I  am 
going  to  ask  Mr.  Fentolin  to  excuse  me  early." 

She  passed  out  of  the  room.  Hamel  escorted  her 
as  far  as  the  door  and  then  returned.  Mr.  Fentolin 
was  sitting  quite  still  in  his  chair.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  tablecloth.  He  looked  up  quickly  as 
Hamel  resumed  his  seat. 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  I  hope,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he 
said,  "when  you  tell  me  that  you  must  leave  early? 
I  have  been  anticipating  a  long  evening.  My  library 
is  filled  with  books  on  South  America  which  I  want 
to  discuss  with  you."  • 

"  Another  evening,  if  you  don't  mind,"  Hamel 
begged.  "  To-night  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  my 
hurrying  away." 

Mr.  Fentolin  looked  up  from  underneath  his  eye- 
lids. His  glance  was  quick  and  penetrating. 

"Why  this  haste?" 

Hamel  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  admitted,  "  I  had  an 
idea  while  I  was  reading  an  article  on  cantilever 
bridges  this  morning.  I  want  to  work  it  out." 

Mr.  Fentolin  glanced  behind  him.  The  door  of 
the  dining-room  was  closed.  The  servants  had  dis- 


278      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

appeared.  Meekins  alone,  looking  more  like  a  prize- 
fighter than  ever  in  his  somber  evening  clothes,  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  butler  behind  his  master's 
chair. 

"  We  shall  see,"  Mr.  Fentolin  said  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Mr.  Fentolin  pointed  to  the  little  pile  of  books 
upon  the  table,  the  deep  easy-chair,  the  green-shaded 
lamps,  the  decanter  of  wine.  He  had  insisted  upon 
a  visit,  however  brief,  to  the  library. 

"  It  is  a  student's  appeal  which  I  make  to  you, 
Mr.  Hamel,"  he  said,  with  a  whimsical  smile.  "  Here 
we  are  in  my  study,  with  the  door  closed,  secure 
against  interruption,  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate,  a 
howling  and  ever-increasing  wind  outside.  Let  us 
go  together  over  the  ground  of  your  last  wonderful 
expedition  over  the  Andes.  You  will  find  that  I  am 
not  altogether  ignorant  of  your  profession,  or  of 
those  very  interesting  geological  problems  which  you 
spoke  of  in  connection  with  that  marvellous  railway 
scheme.  We  will  discuss  them  side  by  side  as  sy- 
barites, hang  ourselves  around  with  cigarette  smoke, 
drink  wine,  and  presently  coffee.  It  is  necessary,  is 
it  not,  for  many  reasons,  that  we  become  better  ac- 
quainted? You  realise  that,  I  am  sure,  and  you  will 
not  persist  in  returning  to  your  selfish  solitude." 

Hamel's  eyes  were  fixed  a  little  longingly  upon 
some  of  the  volumes  with  which  the  table  was  covered. 

"  You  must  not  think  me  ungrateful  or  churlish, 
Mr.  Fentolin,"  he  begged.  "  I  have  a  habit  of  keep- 
ing promises  which  I  make  to  myself,  and  to-night  I 
have  made  myself  a  promise  that  I  will  be  back  at 
the  Tower  by  ten  o'clock." 


28o      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"You  are  obdurate?"  Mr.  Fentolin  asked  softly. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  am." 

Mr.  Fentolin  busied  himself  with  the  handle  of  his 
chair. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  insisted,  "  is  there  any  other  person 
save  yourself  to  whom  you  have  given  this  mysterious 
promise?  " 

"  No  one,"  Hamel  replied  promptly. 
"  I  am  a  person  very  sensitive  to  atmosphere," 
Mr.  Fentolin  continued  slowly.  "  Since  the  un- 
fortunate visit  of  this  man  Dunster,  I  seem  to  have 
been  conscious  of  a  certain  suspicion,  a  little  cloud 
of  suspicion  under  which  I  seem  to  live  and  move, 
even  among  the  members  of  my  own  household.  My 
sister-in-law  is  nervous  and  hysterical;  Gerald  has 
been  sullen  and.  disobedient ;  Esther  has  avoided  me. 
And  now  —  well,  I  find  even  your  attitude  a  little 
difficult  to  understand.  What  does  it  mean,  Mr. 
Hamel?  " 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  confidence  of  the  different  mem- 
bers of  your  family,"  he  answered.  "  So  far  as  I, 
personally,  am  concerned  — " 

"  It  pleases  me  sometimes,"  Mr.  Fentolin  inter- 
rupted, "  to  interfere  to  some  extent  in  the  affairs 
of  the  outside  world.  If  I  do  so,  that  is  my  busi- 
ness. I  do  it  for  my  own  amusement.  It  is  at  no 
time  a  serious  position  which  I  take  up.  Have  I  by 
any  chance,  Mr.  Hamel,  become  an  object  of  sus- 
picion to  you?  " 

"  There  are  matters  in  which  you  are  concerned," 
Hamel  admitted,  "  which  I  do  not  understand,  but  I 
see  no  purpose  in  discussing  them." 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      281 

Mr.  Fentolin  wheeled  his  chair  round  in  a  semi- 
circle. He  was  now  between  the  door  and  Hamel. 

"  Weaker  mortals  than  I,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he  said 
calmly,  "  have  wielded  before  now  the  powers  of  life 
and  death.  From  my  chair  I  can  make  the  lightnings 
bite.  Science  has  done  away  with  the  triumph  of 
muscularity.  Even  as  we  are  here  together  at  this 
moment,  Mr.  Hamel,  if  we  should  disagree,  it  is  I 
who  am  the  preordained  victor." 

Hamel  saw  the  glitter  in  his  hand.  This  was  an 
end,  then,  of  all  doubt!  He  remained  silent. 

"  Suspicions  which  are,  in  a  sense,  absurd,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  continued,  "  have  grown  until  I  find  them 
obtrusive  and  obnoxious.  What  have  I  to  do  with 
Mr.  John  P.  Dunster?  I  sent  him  out  from  my 
house.  If  he  is  lost  or  ill,  the  affair  is  not  mine. 
Yet  one  by  one  those  around  me  are  falling  away. 
I  told  you  an  hour  ago  that  Gerald  was  at  Bran- 
caster.  It  is  a  lie.  He  has  left  this  house,  but  no 
soul  in  it  knows  his  destination." 

Hamel  started. 

"  You  mean  that  he  has  run  away  ?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  All  that  I  can  surmise  is  that  he  has  followed 
Dunster,"  he  proceeded.  "  He  has  an  idea  that  in 
some  way  I  robbed  or  injured  the  man.  He  has 
broken  the  bond  of  relationship  between  us.  He  has 
broken  his  solemn  vow.  He  has  run  a  grave  and 
terrible  risk." 

"What  of  Miss  Esther?"  Hamel  asked  quickly. 

"  I  have  sent  her  away,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied, 
"  until  we  come  to  a  clear  understanding,  you  and  I, 
You  seem  to  be  a  harmless  enough  person,  Mr.  Hamel, 


282      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

but  appearances  are  sometimes  deceptive.  It  has 
been  suggested  to  me  that  you  are  a  spy." 

"  By  whom?  "  Hamel  demanded. 

"  By  those  in  whom  I  trust,"  Mr.  Fentolin  told 
him  sternly.  "  You  are  a  friend  of  Reginald  Kins- 
ley. You  met  him  in  Norwich  the  other  day  — 
secretly.  Kinsley's  chief  is  a  member  of  the  Govern- 
ment. He  is  one  of  those  who  will  find  eternal  oblo- 
quy if  The  Hague  Conference  comes  to  a  success- 
ful termination.  For  some  strange  reason,  I  am 
supposed  to  have  robbed  or  harmed  the  one  man  in 
the  world  whose  message  might  bring  to  nought  that 
Conference.  Are  you  here  to  watch  me,  Mr.  Hamel? 
Are  you  one  of  those  who  believe  that  I  am  either 
in  the  pay  of  a  foreign  country,  or  that  my  harm- 
less efforts  to  interest  myself  in  great  things  are 
efforts  inimical  to  this  country ;  that  I  am,  in  short, 
a  traitor?  " 

"  You  must  admit  that  many  of  your  actions  are 
incomprehensible,"  Hamel  replied  slowly.  "  There 
are  things  here  which  I  do  not  understand  —  which 
certainly  require  explanation." 

"  Still,  why  do  you  make  them  your  business  ?  "  Mr. 
Fentolin  persisted.  "  If  indeed  the  course  which  I 
steer  is  a  harmless  one,"  he  continued,  with  a  strange 
new  glitter  in  his  eyes,  "  then  you  are  an  impertinent 
stranger  to  whom  my  doors  cannot  any  longer  be 
open.  If  you  have  taken  advantage  of  my  hos- 
pitality to  spy  upon  me  and  my  actions,  if  indeed 
you  have  a  mission  here,  then  you  can  carry  it  with 
you  down  into  hell !  " 

"I  understand  that  you  are  threatening  me?" 
Hamel  murmured. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      283 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled. 

"  Scarcely  that,  my  young  friend.  I  am  not  quite 
the  obvious  sort  of  villain  who  flourishes  revolvers 
and  lures  his  victims  into  secret  chambers.  These 
words  to  you  are  simply  words  of  warning.  I  am  not 
like  other  men,  neither  am  I  used  to  being  crossed. 
When  I  am  crossed,  I  am  dangerous.  Leave  here, 
if  you  will,  in  safety,  and  mind  your  own  affairs ;  but 
if  you  show  one  particle  of  curiosity  as  to  mine,  if 
you  interfere  in  matters  which  concern  me  and  me 
only,  remember  that  you  are  encircled  by  powers 
which  are  entirely  ruthless,  absolutely  omnipotent. 
You  can  walk  back  to  the  Tower  to-night  and  re- 
member that  there  isn't  a  step  you  take  which  might 
not  be  your  last  if  I  willed  it,  and  never  a  soul  the 
wiser.  There's  a  very  hungry  little  mother  here  who 
takes  her  victims  and  holds  them  tight.  You  can 
hear  her  calling  to  you  now.  Listen !  " 

He  held  up  his  finger.  The  tide  had  turned,  and 
through  the  half-open  window  came  the  low  thunder 
of  the  waves. 

"  You  decline  to  share  my  evening,"  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin concluded.  "  Let  it  be  so.  Go  your  own  way, 
Hamel,  only  take  care  that  your  way  does  not  cross 
mine." 

He  backed  his  chair  slowly  and  pressed  the  bell. 
Hamel  felt  himself  dismissed.  He  passed  out  into 
the  hall.  The  door  of  the  drawing-room  stood  open, 
and  he  heard  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Fentolin's  thin  voice 
singing  some  little  French  song.  He  hesitated  and 
then  stepped  in.  With  one  hand  she  beckoned  him 
to  her,  continuing  to  play  all  the  time.  He  stepped 
over  to  her  side. 


284      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  come  to  make  my  adieux,"  he  whispered,  with 
a  glance  towards  the  door. 

"  You  are  leaving,  then  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

He  nodded. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  is  in  a  strange  humour,"  she  went 
on,  a  moment  later,  after  she  had  struck  the  final 
chords  of  her  song.  "  There  are  things  going  on 
around  us  which  no  one  can  understand.  I  think 
that  one  of  his  schemes  has  miscarried;  he  has  gone 
too  far.  He  suspects  you ;  I  cannot  tell  you  why  or 
how.  If  only  you  would  go  away !  " 

"What  about  Esther?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"  You  must  leave  her,"  she  cried,  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  throat.  "  Gerald  has  broken  away. 
Esther  and  I  must  carry  still  the  burden." 

She  motioned  him  to  go.  He  touched  her  fingers 
for  a  moment. 

"  Mrs.  Fentolin,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  a  good 
many  years  making  up  my  mind.  Now  that  I  have 
done  so,  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  will  keep  Esther 
from  me." 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  pitifully,  a  little  wist- 
fully. Then,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  she 
turned  round  to  the  piano  and  recommenced  to  play. 
Hamel  took  his  coat  and  hat  from  a  servant  who 
was  waiting  in  the  hall  and  passed  out  into  the 
night. 

He  walked  briskly  until  he  reached  the  Tower. 
The  wind  had  risen,  but  there  was  still  enough  light 
to  help  him  on  his  way.  The  little  building  was  in 
complete  darkness.  He  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
into  the  sitting-room,  lit  the  lamp,  and,  holding  it 
over  his  head,  went  down  the  passage  and  into  the 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      285 

kitchen.  Then  he  gave  a  start.  The  lamp  nearly 
slipped  from  his  fingers.  Kneeling  on  the  stone 
floor,  in  very  much  the  same  attitude  as  he  had 
found  her  earlier  in  the  day,  Hannah  Cox  was  crouch- 
ing patiently  by  the  door  which  led  into  the  boat- 
house,  her  face  expressionless,  her  ear  turned  towards 
the  crack.  She  was  still  listening. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Hamel  set  down  the  lamp  upon  the  table.  He 
glanced  at  the  little  clock  upon  the  dresser ;  it  was 
a  quarter  past  ten.  The  woman  had  observed  his 
entrance,  although  it  seemed  in  no  way  to  have  dis- 
composed her. 

"  Do  you  know  the  time,  Mrs.  Cox  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  You  ought  to  have  been  home  hours  ago.  What 
are  you  doing  there?  " 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  expression  was  one 
of  dogged  but  patient  humility. 

"  I  started  for  home  before  nine  o'clock,  sir,"  she 
told  him,  "  but  it  was  worse  than  ever  to-night.  All 
the  way  along  by  the  sea  I  seemed  to  hear  their 
voices,  so  I  came  back.  I  came  back  to  listen.  I 
have  been  listening  for  an  hour." 

Hamel  looked  at  her  with  a  frown  upon  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Mrs.  Cox,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  understand 
what  it  is  that  you  have  in  your  mind.  Those  are 
not  real  voices  that  you  hear ;  you  cannot  believe 
that?" 

"  Not  real  voices,"  she  repeated,  without  the  slight- 
est expression  in  her  tone. 

"  Of  course  not !  And  tell  me  what  connection 
you  find  between  these  fancies  of  yours  and  that 
room?  Why  do  you  come  and  listen  here?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  patiently. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      287 

"  You  must  have  some  reason,"  he  persisted. 

41 1  have  no  reason,"  she  assured  him,  "  only 
some  day  I  shall  see  behind  these  doors.  After- 
wards, I  shall  hear  the  voices  no  more." 

She  was  busy  tying  a  shawl  around  her  head. 
Hamel  watched  her,  still  puzzled.  He  could  not  get 
rid  of  the  idea  that  there  was  some  method  behind 
her  madness. 

"  Tell  me  —  I  have  found  you  listening  here  be- 
fore. Have  you  ever  heard  anything  suspicious?  " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  yet,"  she  admitted,  "  noth- 
ing that  counts." 

"  Come,"  he  continued,  "  couldn't  we  clear  this 
matter  up  sensibly?  Do  you  believe  that  there  is 
anybody  in  there?  Do  you  believe  the  place  is  be- 
ing used  in  any  way  for  a  wrong  purpose?  If  so, 
we  will  insist  upon  having  the  keys  from  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin.  He  cann»t  refuse.  The  place  is  mine." 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  would  not  give  you  the  keys,  sir," 
she  replied.  "  If  he  did,  it  would  be  useless." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  break  the  door  in? " 
Hamel  asked. 

"  You  could  not  do  it,  sir,"  she  told  him,  "  not 
you  nor  anybody  else.  The  door  is  thicker  than 
my  fist,  of  solid  oak.  It  was  a  mechanic  from  New 
York  who  fitted  the  locks.  I  have  heard  it  said  in 
the  village  —  Bill  Hamas,  the  carpenter,  declares 
that  there  are  double  doors.  The  workmen  who 
were  employed  here  were  housed  in  a  tent  upon  the 
beach  and  sent  home  the  day  they  finished  their  job. 
They  were  never  allowed  in  the  village.  They  were 
foreigners,  most  of  them.  They  came  from  nobody 
knows  where,  and  when  they  had  finished  they  disap- 


288      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

peared.     Why  was  that,  sir?     What  is  there  inside 
which  Mr.  Fentolin  needs  to  guard  so  carefully?  " 

"  Mr.  Fentolin  has  invented  something,"  Hamel 
explained.  "  He  keeps  the  model  in  there.  Inven- 
tors are  very  jealous  of  their  work." 

She  looked  down  upon  the  floor  for  a  moment. 

"  I  shall  be  here  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
sir.  I  will  give  you  your  breakfast  at  the  usual 
time." 

Hamel  opened  the  door  for  her. 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Cox,"  he  said.  "  Would  you 
like  me  to  walk  a  little  way  with  you?  It's  a  lonely 
path  to  the  village,  and  the  dikes  are  full." 

"  Thank  you,  no,  sir,"  she  replied.  "  It's  a  lonely 
way,  right  enough,  but  it  isn't  loneliness  that 
frightens  me.  I  am  less  afraid  out  with  the  winds 
and  the  darkness  than  under  this  roof.  If  I  lose  my 
way  and  wander  all  night  upon  the  marsh,  I'll  be 
safer  out  there  than  you,  sir." 

She  passed  away,  and  Hamel  watched  her  disap- 
pear into  the  darkness.  Then  he  dragged  out  a 
bowl  of  tobacco  and  filled  a  pipe.  Although  he  was 
half  ashamed  of  himself,  he  strolled  back  once  more 
into  the  kitchen,  and,  drawing  up  a  stool,  he  sat 
down  just  where  he  had  discovered  Hannah  Cox,  sat 
still  and  listened.  No  sound  of  any  sort  reached 
him.  He  sat  there  for  ten  minutes.  Then  he 
scrambled  to  his  feet. 

"  She  is  mad,  of  course !  "  he  muttered. 

He  mixed  himself  a  whisky  and  soda,  relit  his 
pipe,  which  had  gone  out,  and  drew  up  an  easy-chair 
to  the  fire  which  she  had  left  him  in  the  sitting-room. 
The  wind  had  increased  in  violence,  and  the  panes 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      289 

of  his  window  rattled  continually.  He  yawned  and 
tried  to  fancy  that  he  was  sleepy.  It  was  useless. 
He  was  compelled  to  admit  the  truth  —  that  his 
nerves  were  all  on  edge.  In  a  sense  he  was  afraid. 
The  thought  of  bed  repelled  him.  He  had  not  a 
single  impulse  towards  repose.  Outside,  the  wind  all 
the  time  was  gathering  force.  More  than  once  his 
window  was  splashed  with  the  spray  carried  on  by 
the  wind  which  followed  the  tide.  He  sat  quite  still 
and  tried  to  think  calmly,  tried  to  piece  together  in 
his  mind  the  sequence  of  events  which  had  brought 
him  to  this  part  of  the  world  and  which  had  led 
to  his  remaining  where  he  was,  an  undesired 
hanger-on  at  the  threshold  of  Miles  Fentolin.  He 
had  the  feeling  that  to-night  he  had  burned  his  boats. 
There  was  no  longer  any  pretence  of  friendliness 
possible  between  him  and  this  strange  creature.  Mr. 
Fentolin  suspected  him,  realised  that  he  himself  was 
suspected.  But  of  what?  Hamel  moved  in  his  chair 
restlessly.  Sometimes  that  gathering  cloud  of  sus- 
picion seemed  to  him  grotesque.  Of  what  real  harm 
could  he  be  capable,  this  little  autocrat  who  from 
his  chair  seemed  to  exercise  such  a  malign  influence 
upon  every  one  with  whom  he  was  brought  into  con- 
tact? Hamel  sighed.  The  riddle  was  insoluble. 
With  a  sudden  rush  of  warmer  and  more  joyous 
feelings,  he  let  the  subject  slip  away  from  him.  He 
closed  his  eyes  and  dreamed  for  a  while.  There 
was  a  new  world  before  him,  joys  which  only  so  short 
a  time  ago  he  had  fancied  had  passed  him  by. 

He  sat  up  in  his  chair  with  a  start.  The  fire  had 
become  merely  a  handful  of  grey  ashes,  his  limbs  were 
numb  and  stiff.  The  lamp  was  flickering  out.  He 


ago      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

had  been  dozing,  how  long  he  had  no  idea.  Some- 
thing had  awakened  him  abruptly.  There  was  a 
cold  draught  blowing  through  the  room.  He  turned 
his  head,  his  hands  still  gripping  the  sides  of  his 
chair.  His  heart  gave  a  leap.  The  outer  door  was 
a  few  inches  open,  was  being  held  open  by  some  in- 
visible force.  There  was  some  one  there,  some  one  on 
the  point  of  entering  stealthily.  Even  as  he  watched, 
the  crack  became  a  little  wider.  He  sat  with  his 
eyes  riveted  upon  that  opening  space.  The  unseen 
hand  was  still  at  work.  Every  instant  he  expected 
to  see  a  face  thrust  forward.  The  sensation  of  ab- 
solute physical  fear  by  which  he  was  oppressed  was 
a  revelation  to  him.  He  found  himself  wishing  al- 
most feverishly  that  he  was  armed.  The  physical 
strength  in  which  he  had  trusted  seemed  to  him  at 
that  instant  a  valueless  and  impotent  thing.  There 
was  a  splash  of  spray  or  raindrops  against  the 
window  and  through  the  crack  in  the  door.  The 
lamp  chimney  hissed  and  spluttered  and  finally  the 
light  went  out.  The  room  was  in  sudden  darkness. 
Hamel  sprang  then  to  his  feet.  Silence  had  become 
an  intolerable  thing.  He  felt  the  close  presence  of 
another  human  being  creeping  in  upon  him. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Who's  there,  I  say  ?  " 
There  was  no  direct  answer,  only  the .  door  was 
pushed  a  little  further  open.  He  had  stepped  close 
to  it  now.  The  sweep  of  the  wind  was  upon  his 
face,  although  in  the  black  darkness  he  could  see 
nothing.  And  then  a  sudden  recollection  flashed  in 
upon  him.  From  his  trousers  pocket  he  snatched  a 
little  electric  torch.  In  an  instant  his  thumb  had 
pressed  the  button.  He  turned  it  upon  the  door. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      291 

The  shivering  white  hand  which  held  it  open  was 
plainly  in  view.  It  was  the  hand  of  a  woman!  He 
stepped  swiftly  forward.  A  dark  figure  almost  fell 
into  his  arms. 

"  Mrs.  Fentolin ! "  he  exclaimed,  aghast. 

An  hysterical  cry,  choked  and  subdued,  broke  from 
her  lips.  He  half  carried,  half  led  her  to  his  easy- 
chair.  Suddenly  steadied  by  the  presence  of  this  un- 
looked-for emergency,  he  closed  the  outside  door  and 
relit  the  lamp  with  firm  fingers.  Then  he  turned  to 
face  her,  and  his  amazement  at  this  strange  visit  be- 
came consternation. 

She  was  still  in  her  dinner-gown  of  black  satin, 
but  it  was  soaked  through  with  the  rain  and  hung 
about  her  like  a  black  shroud.  She  had  lost  one 
shoe,  and  there  was  a  great  hole  in  her  silk  stocking. 
Her  hair  was  all  disarranged;  one  of  its  numerous 
switches  was  hanging  down  over  her  ear.  The  rouge 
upon  her  cheeks  had  run  down  on  to  her  neck.  She 
sat  there,  looking  at  him  out  of  her  hollow  eyes  like 
some  trapped  animal.  She  was  shaking  with  fear. 
It  was  fear,  not  faintness,  which  kept  her  silent. 

"  Tell  me,  please,  what  is  the  matter?  "  he  insisted, 
speaking  as  indifferently  as  he  could.  "  Tell  me  at 
once  what  has  happened?  " 

She  pointed  to  the  door. 

"  Lock  it !  "  she  implored. 

He  turned  down  the  latch  and  drew  the  bolt.  The 
sound  seemed  to  give  her  a  little  courage.  Her 
fingers  went  to  her  throat  for  a  moment. 

"  Give  me  some  water." 

He  poured  out  some  soda-water.  She  drank  only 
a  sip  and  put  it  down  again.  He  began  to  be 


292      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

alarmed.  She  had  the  appearance  of  one  who  has 
suddenly  lost  her  senses. 

"  Please  tell  me  just  what  has  happened? "  he 
begged.  "  If  I  can  help  in  any  way,  you  know  I 
will.  But  you  must  tell  me.  Do  you  realise  that  it 
is  three  o'clock?  I  should  have  been  in  bed,  only  I 
went  to  sleep  over  the  fire  here." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered.  "  It  is  just  the  wind 
that  has  taken  away  my  breath.  It  was  a  hard 
struggle  to  get  here.  Listen  —  you  are  our  friend, 
Mr.  Hamel  —  Esther's  and  mine?  Swear  that  you 
are  our  friend?  " 

"  Upon  my  honour,  I  am,"  he  assured  her.  "  You 
should  know  that." 

"  For  eight  years,"  she  went  on,  her  voice  clear 
enough  now,  although  it  seemed  charged  with  a 
curious  metallic  vibration,  "  for  eight  years  we've 
borne  it,  all  three  of  us,  slaves,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
lashed  with  his  tongue,  driven  along  the  path  of  his 
desires.  We  have  seen  evil  things.  We  have  been 
on  the  point  of  rebellion,  and  he's  come  a  little 
nearer  and  he's  pointed  back.  He  has  taken  me  by 
the  hand,  and  I  have  walked  by  the  side  of  his  chair, 
loathing  it,  loathing  myself,  out  on  to  the  terrace 
and  down  below,  just  where  it  happened.  You 
know  what  happened  there,  Mr.  Hamel?  " 

"  You  mean  where  Mr.  Fentolin  met  with  his  ac- 
cident." 

"  It  was  no  accident ! "  she  cried,  glancing  for  a 
moment  around  her.  "  It  was  no  accident !  It  was 
my  husband  who  took  him  up  and  threw  him  over 
the  terrace,  down  below;  my  husband  who  tried  to 
kill  him;  Esther's  father  —  Gerald's  father!  Miles 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      293 

was  in  the  Foreign  Office  then,  and  he  did  something 
disgraceful.  He  sold  a  secret  to  Austria.  He  was 
always  a  great  gambler,  and  he  was  in  debt.  Sey- 
mour found  out  about  it.  He  followed  him  down 
here.  They  met  upon  the  terrace.  I  —  I  saw  it !  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  No  one  has  known  the  truth,"  he  murmured. 

"  No  one  has  ever  known,"  she  assented,  "  and 
our  broken  lives  have  been  the  price.  It  was  Miles 
himself  who  made  the  bargain.  We  —  we  can't  go 
on,  Mr.  Hamel.'.' 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  Hamel  said  softly. 
"  You  suffer  everything  from  Miles  Fentolin  because 
he  kept  the  secret.  Very  well,  that  belongs  to  the 
past.  Something  has  happened,  something  to-night, 
which  has  brought  you  here.  Tell  me  about  it?  " 

Once  more  her  voice  began  to  shake. 

«  We've  seen  —  terrible  things  —  horrible  things," 
she  faltered.  "  We've  held  our  peace.  Perhaps  it's 
been  nearly  as  bad  before,  but  we've  closed  our  eyes ; 
we  haven't  wanted  to  know.  Now  —  we  can't  help 
it.  Mr.  Hamel,  Esther  isn't  at  Lord  Saxthorpe's. 
She  never  went  there.  They  didn't  ask  her.  And 
Dunster  —  the  man  Dunster  — 

"Where  is  Esther?"  Hamel  interrupted  sud- 
denly. 

"  Locked  up  away  from  you,  locked  up  because 
she  rebelled !  " 

"  And  Dunster?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with 
horror. 

"  But  he  left  the  Hall  —  I  saw  him !  " 

She  shcok  her  head. 


294      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  It  wasn't  Dunster.  It  was  the  man  Miles  makes 
use  of  —  Ryan,  the  librarian.  He  was  once  an 
actor." 

"  Where  is  Dunster,  then?  "  Hamel  asked  quickly. 
"  What  has  become  of  him  ?  " 

She  opened  her  lips  and  closed  them  again,  strug- 
gled to  speak  and  failed.  She  sat  there,  breathing 
quickly,  but  silent.  The  power  of  speech  had  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

Hamel,  for  the  next  few  minutes,  forgot  every- 
thing else  in  his  efforts  to  restore  to  consciousness 
his  unexpected  visitor.  He  rebuilt  the  fire,  heated 
some  water  upon  his  spirit  lamp,  and  forced  some 
hot  drink  between  the  lips  of  the  woman  who  was 
now  almost  in  a  state  of  collapse.  Then  he  wrapped 
her  round  in  his  own  ulster  and  drew  her  closer  to 
the  fire.  He  tried  during  those  few  moments  to  put 
away  the  memory  of  all  that  she  had  told  him. 
Gradually  she  began  to  recover.  She  opened  her 
eyes  and  drew  a  little  sigh.  She  made  no  effort  at 
speech,  however.  She  simply  lay  and  looked  at  him 
like  some  wounded  animal.  He  came  over  to  her 
side  and  chafed  one  of  her  cold  hands. 

"  Come,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  begin  to  look  more 
like  yourself  now.  You  are  quite  safe  in  here,  and, 
for  Esther's  sake  as  well  as  your  own,  you  know  that 
I  am  your  friend." 

She  nodded,  and  her  fingers  gently  pressed  his. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  murmured. 

"  Now  let  us  see  where  we  are,"  he  continued. 
"  Tell  me  exactly  why  you  risked  so  much  by  leav- 
ing St.  David's  Hall  to-night  and  coming  down  here. 
Isn't  there  any  chance  that  he  might  find  out  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  Lucy 
Price  who  sent  me.  She  came  to  my  room  just  as  I 
was  undressing." 


296      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"Lucy  Price,"  he  repeated.     "The  secretary?" 

"  Yes !  She  told  me  that  she  had  meant  to  come 
to  you  herself.  She  sent  me  instead.  She  thought 
it  best.  This  man  Dunster  is  being  kept  alive  be- 
cause there  is  something  Miles  wants  him  to  tell  him, 
and  he  won't.  But  to-night,  if  he  is  still  alive,  if  he 
won't  tell,  they  mean  to  make  away  with  him.  They 
are  afraid." 

"  Miss  Price  told  you  this?  "  Hamel  asked  gravely. 

Mrs.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  Yes !  She  said  so.  She  knows  —  she  knows 
everything.  She  has  been  like  the  rest  of  us.  She, 
too,  has  suffered.  She,  too,  has  reached  the  breaking 
point.  She  loved  him  before  —  the  accident.  She 
has  been  his  slave  ever  since.  Listen !  " 

She  suddenly  clutched  his  arm.  They  were  both 
silent.  There  was  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  wind. 
She  leaned  a  little  closer  to  him. 

"  Lucy  Price  sent  me  here  to-night  because  she 
was  afraid  that  it  was  to-night  they  meant  to  take 
him  from  his  hiding-place  and  kill  him.  The  police 
have  left  off  searching  for  Mr.  Dunster  in  Yarmouth 
and  at  The  Hague.  There  is  a  detective  in  the 
neighbourhood  and  another  one  on  his  way  here. 
They  are  afraid  to  keep  him  alive  any  longer." 

"  Where  was  Mr.  Fentolin  when  you  left?  "  Hamel 
asked. 

"  I  asked  Lucy  Price  that,"  she  replied.  "  When 
she  came  to  my  room,  there  were  no  signs  of  his 
leaving.  She  told  me  to  come  and  tell  you  every- 
thing. Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Dunster  is  ?  " 

Hamel  shook  his  head. 

"  Within  a  few  yards  of  here,"  she  went  on.     "  He 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      297 

is  in  the  boat-house,  the  place  where  Miles  told  you 
he  kept  a  model  of  his  invention.  They  brought  him 
here  the  night  before  they  put  his  clothes  on  Ryan 
and  sent  him  off  disguised  as  Mr.  Dunster,  in  the  car 
to  Yarmouth." 

Hamel  started  up,  but  she  clutched  at  his  arm 
and  pulled  him  back.  "  No,"  she  cried,  "  you  can't 
break  in!  There  are  double  doors  and  a  wonderful 
lock.  The  boat-house  is  yours ;  the  building  is  yours. 
In  the  morning  you  must  demand  the  keys  —  if  he 
does  not  come  to-night !  " 

"  And  how  are  we  to  know,"  Hamel  asked,  "  if 
he  comes  to-night?" 

"  Go  outside,"  she  whispered.  "  Look  towards  St. 
David's  Hall  and  tell  me  how  many  lights  you  can 
see." 

He  drew  back  the  bolt,  unlatched  the  door,  and 
stepped  out  into  the  darkness.  The  wind  and  the 
driving  rain  beat  against  his  face.  A  cloud  of  spray 
enveloped  and  soaked  him.  Like  lamps  hung  in  the 
sky,  the  lights  of  St.  David's  Hall  shone  out  through 
the  black  gulf:  He  counted  them  carefully ;  then  he 
stepped  back. 

"  There  are  seven,"  he  told  her,  closing  the  door 
with  an  effort. 

She  counted  upon  her  fingers. 

"  I  must  come  and  see,"  she  muttered.  "  I  must 
be  sure.  Help  me." 

He  lifted  her  to  her  feet,  and  they  staggered  out 
together. 

"  Look !  "  she  went  on,  gripping  his  arm.  "  You 
see  that  row  of  lights?  If  anything  happens,  if  Mr. 
Fentolin  leaves  the  Hall  to-night  to  come  down  here, 


2g8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

a  light  will  appear  on  the  left  in  the  far  corner.  We 
must  watch  for  that  light.  We  must  watch — " 

The  words,  whispered  hoarsely  into  his  ear,  sud- 
denly died  away.  Even  as  they  stood  there,  far  away 
from  the  other  lights,  another  one  shone  suddenly 
out  in  the  spot  towards  which  she  had  pointed,  and 
continued  to  burn  steadily.  He  felt  the  woman  who 
was  clinging  to  his  arm  become  suddenly  a  dead 
weight. 

"  She  was  right !  "  Mrs.  Fentolin  moaned.  "  He 
is  coming  down  to-night !  He  is  preparing  to  leave 
now;  perhaps  he  has  already  started!  What  shall 
we  do?  What  shall  we  do?  " 

Hamel  was  conscious  of  a  gathering  sense  of  ex- 
citement. He,  too,  looked  at  the  signal  which  was 
flashing  out  its  message  towards  them.  Then  he 
gripped  his  companion's  arm  and  almost  carried  her 
back  into  the  sitting-room. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  firmly,  "  you  can  do  noth- 
ing further.  You  have  done  your  part  and  done 
it  well.  Stay  where  you  are  and  wait.  The  rest 
belongs  to  me." 

"  But  what  can  you  do  ?  "  she  demanded,  her  voice 
shaking  with  fear.  "  Meekins  will  come  with  him, 
and  Doctor  Sarson,  unless  he  is  here  already.  What 
can  you  do  against  them?  Meekins  can  break  any 
ordinary  man's  back,  and  Mr.  Fentolin  will  have  a 
revolver." 

Hamel  threw  another  log  on  to  the  fire  and  drew 
her  chair  closer  to  it. 

"  Never  mind  about  me,"  he  declared  cheerfully, 
*'  Mr.  Fentolin  is  too  clever  to  attempt  violence,  ex- 
cept as  a  last  resource.  He  knows  that  I  have 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      299 

friends  in  London  who  would  need  some  explanation 
of  my  disappearance.  Stay  here  and  wait." 

She  recognised  the  note  of  authority  in  his  tone, 
and  she  bowed  her  head.  Then  she  looked  up  at 
him;  she  was  a  changed  woman. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  done  ill  to  drag  you  into  our 
troubles,  Mr.  Hamel,"  she  said,  "  and  yet,  I  believe 
in  you.  I  believe  that  you  really  care  for  Esther. 
If  you  can  he.lp  us  now,  it  will  be  for  your  happiness, 
too.  You  are  a  man.  God  bless  you !  " 

Hamel  groped  his  way  round  the  side  of  the  Tower 
and  took  up  a  position  at  the  extreme  corner  of  the 
landward  side  of  the  building,  within  a  yard  of  the 
closed  doors.  The  light  far  out  upon  the  left  was 
still  gleaming  brightly,  but  two  of  the  others  in  a 
line  with  it  had  disappeared.  He  flattened  himself 
against  the  wall  and  waited,  listening  intently,  his 
eyes  straining  through  the  darkness.  Yet  they  were 
almost  upon  him  before  he  had  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  their  presence.  A  single  gleam  of  light  in 
the  path,  come  and  gone  like  a  flash,  the  gleam  of  an 
electric  torch  directed  momentarily  towards  the  road, 
was  his  first  indication  that  they  were  near.  A  mo- 
ment or  two  later  he  heard  the  strange  click,  click 
of  the  little  engine  attached  to  Mr.  Fentolin's  chair. 
Hamel  set  his  teeth  and  stepped  a  few  inches  further 
back.  The  darkness  was  so  intense  that  they  were 
actually  within  a  yard  or  so  of  him  before  he  could 
even  dimly  discern  their  shapes.  There  were  three 
of  them  —  Mr.  Fentolin  in  his  chair,  Doctor  Sarson, 
and  Meekins.  They  paused  for  a  moment  while  the 
latter  produced  a  key.  Hamel  distinctly  heard  a 
slow,  soft  whisper  from  Doctor  Sarson. 


300      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Shall  I  go  round  to  the  front  and  see  that  he  is 
in  bed?" 

"  No  need,"  Mr.  Fentolin  replied  calmly.  "  It  is 
nearly  four  o'clock.  Better  not  to  risk  the  sound  of 
your  footsteps  upon  the  pebbles.  Now !  " 

The  door  swung  noiselessly  open.  The  darkness 
was  so  complete  that  even  though  Hamel  could  have 
touched  them  with  an  outstretched  hand,  their  shapes 
were  invisible.  Hamel,  who  had  formed  no  definite 
plans,  had  no  time  to  hesitate.  As  the  last  one  dis- 
appeared through  the  door,  he,  too,  slipped  in.  He 
turned  abruptly  to  the  left  and,  holding  his  breath, 
stood  against  the  wall.  The  door  closed  behind 
them.  The  gleam  of  the  electric  light  flashed  across 
the  stone  floor  and  rested  for  a  moment  upon  a  trap- 
door, which  Meekins  had  already  stooped  to  lift. 
It  fell  back  noiselessly  upon  rubber  studs,  and  Mee- 
kins immediately  slipped  through  it  a  ladder,  on 
either  side  of  which  was  a  grooved  stretch  of  board, 
evidently  fashioned  to  allow  Mr.  Fentolin's  carriage 
to  pass  down.  Hamel  held  his  breath.  The  moment 
for  him  was  critical.  If  the  light  flashed  once  in  his 
direction,  he  must  be  discovered.  Both  Meekins  and 
Doctor  Sarson,  however,  were  intent  upon  the  task 
of  steering  Mr.  Fentolin's  little  carriage  down  be- 
low. They  placed  the  wheels  in  the  two  grooves, 
and  Meekins  secured  the  carriage  with  a  rope  which 
he  let  run  through  his  fingers.  As  soon  as  the  little 
vehicle  had  apparently  reached  the  bottom,  he 
turned,  thrust  the  electric  torch  in  his  pocket,  and 
stepped  lightly  down  the  ladder.  Doctor  Sarson 
followed  his  example.  They  disappeared  in  perfect 
silence  and  left  the  door  open.  Presently  a  gleam 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      301 

of  light  came  travelling  up,  from  which  Hamel  knew 
that  they  had  lit  a  lamp  below.  Very  softly  he  crept 
across  the  floor,  threw  himself  upon  his  stomach  and 
peered  down.  Below  him  was  a  room,  or  rather  a 
cellar,  parts  of  which  seemed  to  have  been  cut  out 
of  the  solid  rock.  Immediately  underneath  was  a 
plain  iron  bedstead,  on  which  was  lying  stretched  the 
figure  of  a  man.  In  those  first  few  moments  Hamel 
failed  altogether  to  recognise  Mr.  Dunster.  He  was 
thin  and  white,  and  he  seemed  to  have  shrunken ;  his 
face,  with  its  coarse  growth  of  beard,  seemed  like  the 
face  of  ah  old  man.  Yet  the  eyes  were  open,  eyes 
dull  and  heavy  as  though  with  pain.  So  far  no  word 
had  been  spoken,  but  at  that  moment  Mr.  Fentolin 
broke  the  silence. 

"  My  dear  guest,"  he  said,  "  I  bring  you  our  most 
sincere  apologies.  It  has  gone  very  much  against 
the  grain,  I  can  assure  you,  to  have  neglected  you 
for  so  long  a  time.  It  is  entirely  the  fault  of  the 
very  troublesome  young  man  who  occupies  the  other 
portion  of  this  building.  In  the  daytime  his  pres- 
ence makes  it  exceedingly  difficult  for  us  to  offer  you 
those  little  attentions  which  you  might  naturally  ex- 
pect." 

The  man  upon  the  bed  neither  moved  nor  changed 
his  position  in  any  way.  Nor  did  he  speak.  All 
power  of  initiative  seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 
He  lay  quite  still,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Mr.  Fentolin. 

"  There  comes  a  time,"  the  latter  continued,  "  when 
every  one  of  us  is  confronted  with  what  might  be  de- 
scribed as  the  crisis  of  our  lives.  Yours  has  come, 
my  guest,  at  precisely  this  moment.  It  is,  if  my 
watch  tells  me  the  truth,  five  and  twenty  minutes  to 


302      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

four.  It  is  the  last  day  of  April.  The  year  you 
know.  You  have  exactly  one  minute  to  decide 
whether  you  will  live  a  short  time  longer,  or  whether 
you  will  on  this  last  day  of  April,  and  before 
—  say,  a  quarter  to  four,  make  that  little  journey 
the  nature  of  which  you  and  I  have  discussed  more 
than  once." 

Still  the  man  upon  the  bed  made  no  movement  nor 
any  reply.  Mr.  Fentolin  sighed  and  beckoned  to 
Doctor  Sarson. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  whispered,  "  that  that  wonder- 
ful drug  of  yours,  Doctor,  has  been  even  a  little  too 
far-reaching  in  its  results.  It  has  kept  our  friend 
so  quiet  that  he  has  lost  even  the  power  of  speech, 
perhaps  even  the  desire  to  speak.  A  little  restora- 
tive, I  think  —  just  a  few  drops." 

Doctor  Sarson  nodded  silently.  He  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  little  phial  and  poured  into  a  wine-glass 
which  stood  on  a  table  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  half  a 
dozen  drops  of  some  ruby-coloured  liquid,  to  which 
he  added  a  tablespoonful  of  water.  Then  he  leaned 
once  more  over  the  bed  and  poured  the  contents  of 
the  glass  between  the  lips  of  the  semi-conscious  man. 

"  Give  him  two  minutes,"  he  said  calmly.  "  He 
will  be  able  to  speak  then." 

Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
He  glanced  around  the  room  a  little  critically. 
There  was  a  thick  carpet  upon  the  floor,  a  sofa  piled 
with  cushions  in  one  corner,  and  several  other  arti- 
cles of  furniture.  The  walls,  however,  were  uncov- 
ered and  were  stained  with  damp.  A  great  pink  fun- 
gus stood  out  within  a  few  inches  of  the  bed,  a  grim 
mixture  of  exquisite  colouring  and  loathsome  imper- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      303 

fections.  The  atmosphere  was  fetid.  Meekins  sud- 
denly struck  a  match  and  lit  some  grains  of  powder 
in  a  saucer.  A  curious  odour  of  incense  stole  through 
the  place.  Mr.  Fentolin  nodded  appreciatively. 

"  That  is  better,"  he  declared.  "  Really,  the  at- 
mosphere here  is  positively  unpleasant.  I  am 
ashamed  to  think  that  our  guest  has  had  to  put  up 
with  it  so  long.  And  yet,"  he  went  on,  "  I  think  we 
must  call  it  his  own  fault.  I  trust  that  he  will  no 
longer  be  obstinate." 

The  effect  of  the  restorative  began  to  show  itself. 
The  man  on  the  bed  moved  restlessly.  His  eyes  were 
no  longer  altogether  expressionless.  He  was  staring 
at  Mr.  Fentolin  as  one  looks  at  some  horrible  vision. 
Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  Now  you  are  looking  more  like  your  old  self, 
my  dear  Mr.  Dunster,"  he  remarked.  "  I  don't 
think  that  I  need  repeat  what  I  said  when  I  first 
came,  need  I?  You  have  just  to  utter  that  one  word, 
and  your  little  visit  to  us  will  be  at  an  end." 

The  man  looked  around  at  all  of  them.  He  raised 
himself  a  little  on  his  elbow.  For  the  first  time, 
Hamel,  crouching  above,  recognised  any  likeness  to 
Mr.  John  P.  Dunster. 

"  I'll  see  you  in  hell  first !  " 

Mr.  Fentolin's  face  momentarily  darkened.  He 
moved  a  little  nearer  to  the  man  upon  the  bed. 

"  Dunster,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  grim  earnest. 
Never  mind  arguments.  Never  mind  why  I  am  on 
the  other  side.  They  are  restless  about  you  in 
America.  Unless  I  can  cable  that  word  to-morrow 
morning,  they'll  communicate  direct  with  The  Hague, 
and  I  shall  have  had  my  trouble  for  nothing.  It  is 


304      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

not  my  custom  to  put  up  with  failure.  Therefore, 
let  me  tell  you  that  no  single  one  of  my  threats  has 
been  exaggerated.  My  patience  has  reached  its 
breaking  point.  Give  me  that  word,  or  before  four 
o'clock  strikes,  you  will  find  yourself  in  a  new  cham- 
ber, among  the  corpses  of  those  misguided  fisher- 
men, mariners  of  ancient  days,  and  a  few  others. 
It's  only  a  matter  of  fifty  yards  out  to  the  great  sea 
pit  below  the  Dagger  Rocks  —  I've  spoken  to  you 
about  it  before,  haven't  I?  So  surely  as  I  speak  to 
you  of  it  at  this  moment  — " 

Mr.  Fentolin's  speech  came  to  an  abrupt  termina- 
tion. A  convulsive  movement  of  Meekins',  an  ex- 
pression of  blank  amazement  on  the  part  of  Doctor 
Sarson,  had  suddenly  checked  the  words  upon  his 
lips.  He  turned  his  head  quickly  in  the  direction 
towards  which  they  had  been  gazing,  towards  which 
in  fact,  at  that  moment,  Meekins,  with  a  low  cry,  had 
made  a  fruitless  spring.  The  ladder  down  which 
they  had  descended  was  slowly  disappearing.  Mee- 
kins, with  a  jump,  missed  the  last  rung  by  only  a  few 
inches.  Some  unseen  hand  was  drawing  it  up.  Al- 
ready the  last  few  feet  were  vanishing  in  mid-air. 
Mr.  Fentolin  sat  quite  quiet  and  still.  He  looked 
through  the  trap-door  and  saw  Hamel. 

"  Most  ingenious  and,  I  must  confess,  most  suc- 
cessful, my  young  friend !  "  he  exclaimed  pleasantly. 
"  When  you  have  made  the  ladder  quite  secure,  per- 
haps you  will  be  so  good  as  to  discuss  this  little  mat- 
ter with  us?  " 

There  was  no  immediate  reply.  The  eyes  of  all 
four  men  were  turned  now  upon  that  empty  space 
through  which  the  ladder  had  finally  disappeared. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      305 

Mr.  Fentolin's  fingers  disappeared  within  the  pocket 
of  his  coat.  Something  very  bright  was  glistening 
in  his  hand  when  he  withdrew  it. 

"  Come  and  parley  with  us,  Mr.  Hamel,"  he 
begged.  "  You  will  not  find  us  unreasonable." 

Hamel's  voice  came  back  in  reply,  but  Hamel  him- 
self kept  well  away  from  the  opening. 

"  The  conditions,"  he  said,  "  are  unpropitious. 
A  little  time  for  reflection  will  do  you  no  harm." 

The  trap-doors  were  suddenly  closed.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin's face,  as  he  looked  up,  became  diabolic. 

"  We  are  trapped !  "  he  muttered ;  "  caught  like 
rats  in  a  hole  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A  gleam  of  day  was  in  the  sky  as  Hamel,  with  Mrs. 
Fentolin  by  his  side,  passed  along  the  path  which  led 
from  the  Tower  to  St.  David's  Hall.  Lights  were 
still  burning  from  its  windows ;  the  outline  of  the 
building  itself  was  faintly  defined  against  the  sky. 
Behind  him,  across  the  sea,  was  that  one  straight  line 
of  grey  merging  into  silver.  The  rain  had  ceased 
and  the  wind  had  dropped.  On  either  side  of  them 
stretched  the  brimming  creeks. 

"  Can  we  get  into  the  house  without  waking  any 
one?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  easily,"  she  assured  him.  "  The  front 
door  is  never  barred." 

She  walked  by  his  side,  swiftly  and  with  surpris- 
ing vigour.  In  the  still,  grey  light,  her  face  was  more 
ghastly  than  ever,  but  there  was  a  new  firmness 
about  her  mouth,  a  new  decision  in  her  tone.  They 
reached  the  Hall  without  further  speech,  and  she  led 
the  way  to  a  small  door  on  the  eastern  side,  through 
which  they  entered  noiselessly  and  passed  along  a  lit- 
tle passage  out  into  the  hall.  A  couple  of  lights 
were  still  burning.  The  place  seemed  full  of  shad- 
ows. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now?"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"  I  want  to  ring  up  London  on  the  telephone,"  he 
replied.  "  I  know  that  there  is  a  detective  either  ip. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      307 

the  neighbourhood  or  on  his  way  here,  but  I  shall  tell 
my  friend  that  he  had  better  come  down  himself." 

She  nodded. 

"  I  am  going  to  release  Esther,"  she  said.  "  She 
is  locked  in  her  room.  The  telephone  is  in  the  study. 
I  will  come  down  there  to  you." 

She  passed  silently  up  the  broad  staircase.  Hamel 
groped  his  way  across  the  hall  into  the  library.  He 
turned  on  the  small  electric  reading-lamp  and  drew 
up  a  chair  to  the  side  of  the  telephone.  Even  as  he 
lifted  the  receiver  to  his  ear,  he  looked  around  him 
half  apprehensively.  It  seemed  as  though  every  mo- 
ment he  would  hear  the  click  of  Mr.  Fentolin's  chair. 

He  got  the  exchange  at  Norwich  without  difficulty, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  a  sleepy  reply  came  from  the 
number  he  had  rung  up  in  London.  It  was  Kins- 
ley's servant  who  answered. 

"  I  want  to  .speak  to  Mr.  Kinsley  at  once  upon 
most  important  business,"  Hamel  announced. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,"  the  man  replied.  "  Mr.  Kins- 
ley left  town  last  night  for  the  country." 

"  Where  has  he  gone?  "  Hamel  demanded  quickly. 
"  You  can  tell  me.  You  know  who  I  am ;  I  am  Mr. 
Hamel." 

"  Into  Norfolk  somewhere,  sir.  He  went  with  sev- 
eral other  gentlemen." 

"Is  that  Bullen?"  Hamel  asked. 

The  man  admitted  the  fact. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  any  of  the  people  with  whom 
Mr.  Kinsley  left  London  were  connected  with  the 
police  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  man  hesitated. 

"  I  believe  so,  sir,"  he  admitted.     "  The  gentlemen 


3o8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

started  in  a  motor-car  and  were  going  to  drive  all 
night." 

Hamel  laid  down  the  receiver.  At  any  rate,  he 
would  not  be  left  long  with  this  responsibility  upon 
him.  He  walked  out  into  the  hall.  The  house  was 
still  wrapped  in  deep  silence.  Then,  from  somewhere 
above  him,  coming  down  the  stairs,  he  heard  the  rus- 
tle of  a  woman's  gown.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  Miss 
Price,  fully  dressed,  coming  slowly  towards  him. 
She  held  up  her  finger  and  led  the  way  back  into  the 
library.  She  was  dressed  as  neatly  as  ever,  but  there 
was  a  queer  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Seymour  Fentolin,"  she  said. 
"  She  tells  me  that  you  have  left  Mr.  Fentolin  and  the 
others  in  the  subterranean  room  of  the  Tower." 

Hamel  nodded. 

"  They  have  Dunster  down  there,"  he  told  her. 
"  I  followed  them  in ;  it  seemed  the  best  thing  to  do. 
I  have  a  friend  from  London  who  is  on  his  way  down 
here  now  with  some  detective  officers,  to  enquire  into 
the  matter  of  Dunster's  disappearance." 

"  Are  you  going  to  leave  them  where  they  are  until 
these  people  arrive?"  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  replied,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. "  I  don't  seem  to  have  had  time  to  consider 
even  what  to  do.  The  opportunity  came,  and  I  em- 
braced it.  There  they  are,  and  they  won't  dare  to 
do  any  further  harm  to  Dunster  now.  Mrs.  Fentolin 
was  down  in  my  room,  and  I  thought  it  best  to  bring 
her  back  first  before  I  even  parleyed  with  them 
again." 

"  You  must  be  careful,"  she  advised  slowly. 
*  The  man  Dunster  has  been  drugged,  he  has  lost 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      309 

some  of  his  will ;  he  may  have  lost  some  of  his  mental 
balance.  Mr.  Fentolin  is  clever.  He  will  find  a 
dozen  ways  to  wriggle  out  of  any  charge  that  can  be 
brought  against  him.  You  know  what  he  has  really 
done?" 

"  I  can  guess." 

"  He  has  kept  back  a  document  signed  by  the 
twelve  men  in  America  who  control  the  whole  of  Wall 
Street,  who  control  practically  the  money  markets 
of  the  world.  That  document  is  a  warning  to  Ger- 
many that  they  will  have  no  war  against  England. 
Owing  to  Mr.  Fentolin,  it  has  not  been  delivered,  and 
the  Conference  is  sitting  now.  War  may  be  declared 
at  any  moment." 

"  But  as  a  matter  of  common  sense,"  Hamel  asked, 
"  why  does  Mr.  Fentolin  desire  war?  " 

"  You  do  not  understand  Mr.  Fentolin,"  she  told 
him  quietly.  "  He  is  not  like  other  men.  There  are 
some  who  live  almost  entirely  for  the  sake  of  making 
others  happy,  who  find  joy  in  seeing  people  content 
and  satisfied.  Mr.  Fentolin  is  the  reverse  of  this. 
He  has  but  one  craving  in  life :  to  see  pain  in  others. 
To  see  a  human  being  suffer  is  to  him  a  debauch  of 
happiness.  A  war  which  laid  this  country  waste 
would  fill  him  with  a  delight  which  you  could  never 
understand.  There  are  no  normal  human  beings  like 
this.  It  is  a  disease  in  the  man;  a  disease  which  came 
upon  him  after  his  accident." 

"  Yet  you  have  all  been  his  slaves,"  Hamel  said 
curiously. 

"  We  have  all  been  his  slaves,"  she  admitted,  "  for 
different  reasons.  Before  his  accident  came,  Mr. 
Fentolin  was  my  master  and  the  only  man  in  the 


3io      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

world  for  me.  After  his  accident,  I  think  my  feel* 
ings  for  him,  if  anything,  grew  stronger.  I  became 
his  slave.  I  sold  my  conscience,  my  self-respect, 
everything  in  life  worth  having,  to  bring  a  smile  to  his 
lips,  to  help  him  through  a  single  moment  of  his  mis- 
ery. And  just  lately  the  reaction  has  come.  He 
has  played  with  me  just  as  he  would  sit  and  pull  the 
legs  out  of  a  spider  to  watch  its  agony.  I  have  been 
one  of  his  favourite  amusements.  And  even  now,  if 
he  came  into  this  room  I  think  that  I  should  be  help- 
less. I  should  probably  fall  at  his  feet  and  pray  for 
forgiveness." 

Hamel  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"  I  have  come  down  to  warn  you,"  she  went  on. 
"  It  is  possible  that  this  is  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
that  his  wonderful  fortune  will  desert  him,  that  his 
star  has  gone  down.  But  remember  that  he  has  the 
brains  and  courage  of  genius.  You  think  that  you 
have  him  in  a  trap.  Don't  be  surprised,  when  you 
go  back,  to  find  that  he  has  turned  the  tables  upon 
you." 

"  Impossible !  "  Hamel  declared.  "  I  looked  all 
round  the  place.  There  isn't  a  window  or  opening 
anywhere.  The  trap-door  is  in  the  middle  of  the 
ceiling  and  it  is  fifteen  feet  from  the  floor.  It  shuts 
with  a  spring." 

"  It  may  be  as  you  say,"  she  observed.  "  It  may 
be  that  he  is  safe.  Remember,  though,  if  you  go  near 
him,  that  he  is  desperate." 

"  Do  you  know  where  Miss  Fentolin  is  ?  "  he  inter- 
rupted. 

"  She  is  with  her  mother,"  the  woman  replied,  im- 
patiently. "  She  is  coming  down.  Tell  me,  what 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      311 

are  you  going  to  do  with  Mr.  Fentolin?  Nothing 
else  matters." 

"  I  have  a  friend,"  Hamel  answered,  "  who  will  see 
to  that." 

"  If  you  are  relying  upon  the  law,"  she  said,  "  I 
think  you  will  find  that  the  law  cannot  touch  him. 
Mr.  Dunster  was  brought  to  the  house  in  a  perfectly 
natural  manner.  He  was  certainly  injured,  and  in- 
jured in  a  railway  accident.  Doctor  Sarson  is  a 
fully  qualified  surgeon,  and  he  will  declare  that  Mr. 
Dunster  was  unfit  to  travel.  If  necessary,  they  will 
have  destroyed  the  man's  intelligence.  If  you  think 
that  you  have  him  broken,  let  me  warn  you  that  you 
may  be  disappointed.  Let  me,  if  I  may,  give  you 
one  word  of  advice." 

"  Please  do,"  Hamel  begged. 

She  looked  at  him  coldly.  Her  tone  was  still  free 
from  any  sort  of  emotion. 

"  You  have  taken  up  some  sort  of  position  here," 
she  continued,  "  as  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Seymour  Fento- 
lin, a  friend  of  the  family.  Don't  let  them  come  back 
under  the  yoke.  You  know  the  secret  of  their  bond- 
age? " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  admitted. 

"  They  have  been  his  slaves  because  their  absolute 
obedience  to  his  will  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  his 
secrecy.  He  has  drawn  the  cords  too  tight.  Better 
let  the  truth  be  known,  if  needs  be,  than  have  their 
three  lives  broken.  Don't  let  them  go  back  under  his 
governance.  For  me,  I  cannot  tell.  If  he  comes 
back,  as  he  will  come  back,  I  may  become  his  slave 
again,  but  let  them  break  away.  Listen  —  that  is 
Mrs.  Fentolin." 


3i2      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

She  left  him.  Hamel  followed  her  out  into  the 
hall.  Esther  and  her  mother  were  already  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  He  drew  them  into  the  study.  Esther 
gave  him  her  hands,  but  she  was  trembling  in  every 
limb. 

"  I  am  terrified !  "  she  whispered.  "  Every  mo- 
ment I  think  I  can  hear  the  click  of  that  awful  car- 
riage. He  will  come  back;  I  am  sure  he  will  come 
back !  " 

"  He  may,"  Hamel  answered  sturdily,  "  but  never 
to  make  you  people  his  slaves  again.  You  have  done 
enough.  You  have  earned  your  freedom." 

"  I  agree,"  Mrs.  Fentolin  said  firmly.  "  We  have 
gone  on  from  sacrifice  to  sacrifice,  until  it  has  become 
a  habit  with  us  to  consider  him  the  master  of  our 
bodies  and  our  souls.  To-day,  Esther,  we  have 
reached  the  breaking  point.  Not  even  for  the  sake 
of  that  message  from  the  other  side  of  the  grave,  not 
even  to  preserve  his  honour  and  his  memory,  can  we 
do  more." 

Hamel  held  up  his  finger.  He  opened  the  French 
windows,  and  they  followed  him  out  on  to  the  ter- 
race. The  grey  dawn  had  broken  now  over  the  sea. 
There  were  gleams  of  fitful  sunshine  on  the  marshes. 
Some  distance  away  a  large  motor-car  was  coming 
rapidly  along  the  road. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster,  lying  flat  upon  his  little  bed, 
watched  with  dilated  eyes  the  disappearance  of  the 
ladder.  Then  he  laughed.  It  was  a  queer  sound  — 
broken,  spasmodic,  devoid  of  any  of  the  ordinary  ele- 
ments of  humor  —  and  yet  it  was  a  laugh.  Mr.  Fen- 
tolin  turned  his  head  towards  his  prisoner  and  nodded 
thoughtfully. 

"  What  a  constitution,  my  friend ! "  he  exclaimed, 
without  any  trace  of  disturbance  in  his  voice.  "  And 
what  a  sense  of  humour !  Strange  that  a  trifling  cir- 
cumstance like  this  should  affect  it.  Meekins,  burn 
some  more  of  the  powder.  The  atmosphere  down 
here  may  be  salubrious,  but  I  am  unaccustomed  to  it." 

"  Perhaps,"  Mr.  Dunster  said  in  a  hollow  tone, 
"  you  will  have  some  opportunity  now  of  discovering 
with  me  what  it  is  like." 

"  That,  too,  is  just  possible,"  Mr.  Fentolin  admit- 
ted, blowing  out  a  little  volume  of  smoke  from  a 
cigarette  which  he  had  just  lit,  "  but  one  never  knows. 
We  have  friends,  and  our  position,  although,  I  must 
admit,  a  little  ridiculous,  is  easily  remedied.  But 
how  that  mischief-making  Mr.  Hamel  could  have 
found  his  way  into  the  boat-house  does,  I  must  con- 
fess, perplex  me." 

"  He  must  have  been  hanging  around  and  followed 
us  in  when  we  came,"  Meekins  muttered.  "  Some- 
how, I  fancied  I  felt  some  one  near." 


3i4      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Our  young  friend,"  Mr.  Fentolin  continued, 
"  has,  without  doubt,  an  obvious  turn  of  mind.  He 
will  send  for  his  acquaintance  in  the  Foreign  Office; 
they  will  haul  out  Mr.  Dunster  here,  and  he  will  have 
a  belated  opportunity  of  delivering  his  message  at 
The  Hague." 

"  You  aren't  going  to  murder  me  first,  then  ?  "  Mr. 
Dunster  grunted. 

Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  at  him  benignly. 

"  My  dear  and  valued  guest,"  he  protested,  "  why 
so  forbidding  an  idea?  Let  me  assure  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  that  any  bodily  harm  to  you  is 
the  most  unlikely  thing  in  the  world.  You  see, 
though  you  might  not  think  it,"  he  went  on,  "  I  love 
life.  That  is  why  I  keep  a  doctor  always  by  my  side. 
That  is  why  I  insist  upon  his  making  a  complete 
study  of  my  constitution  and  treating  me  in  every 
respect  as  though  I  were  indeed  an  invalid.  I  am 
really  only  fifty-nine  years  old.  It  is  my  intention 
to  live  until  I  am  eighty-nine.  An  offence  against 
the  law  of  the  nature  you  indicate  might  interfere 
materially  with  my  intentions." 

Mr.  Dunster  struggled  for  a  moment  for  breath. 
"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  that's  all  right,  but  do 
you  suppose  you  won't  be  punished  for  what  you've 
done  to  me?     You  laid  a  deliberate  plot  to  bring  me 
to  St.  David's  Hall ;  you've  kept  me  locked  up,  dosed 
me  with  drugs,  brought  me  down  here  at  the  dead 
of  night,  kept  me  a  prisoner  in  a  dungeon.     Do  you 
think  you  can  do  that  for  nothing?     Do  you  think 
you  won't  have  to  suffer  for  it  ?  " 
Mr.  Fentolin  smiled. 
"  My  dear  Mr.  Dunster,"  he  reminded  him,  "  you 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      315 

were  in  a  railway  accident,  you  know ;  there  is  no  pos- 
sible doubt  about  that.  And  the  wound  in  your  head 
is  still  there,  in  a  very  dangerous  place.  Men  who 
have  been  in  railway  accidents,  and  who  have  a  gaping 
wound  very  close  to  their  brain,  are  subject  to  delu- 
sions. I  have  simply  done  my  best  to  play  the  Good 
Samaritan.  Your  clothes  and  papers  are  all  un- 
touched. If  my  eminent  physician  had  pronounced 
you  ready  to  travel  a  week  ago,  you  would  certainly 
have  been  allowed  to  depart  a  week  ago.  Any  inter- 
ference in  your  movements  has  been  entirely  in  the 
interests  of  your  health." 

Mr.  Dunster  tried  to  sit  up  but  found  himself  un- 
able. 

"  So  you  think  they  won't  believe  my  story,  eh?  " 
he  muttered.  "  Well,  we  shall  see." 

Mr.  Fentolin  thoughtfully  contemplated  the  burn- 
ing end  of  his  cigarette  for  a  moment. 

"  If  I  believed,"  he  said,  "  that  there  was  any 
chance  of  your  statements  being  accepted,  I  am 
afraid  I  should  be  compelled,  in  all  our  interests,  to 
ask  Doctor  Sarson  to  pursue  just  a  step  further  that 
experiment  into  the  anatomy  of  your  brain  with 
which  he  has  already  trifled." 

Mr.  Dunster's  face  was  suddenly  ghastly.  His  re- 
serve of  strength  seemed  to  ebb  away.  The  memory 
of  some  horrible  moment  seemed  to  hold  him  in  its 
clutches. 

"  For  God's  sake,  leave  me  alone ! "  he  moaned. 
"  Let  me  get  away,  that's  all ;  let  me  crawl  away !  " 

"  Ah !  "  Mr.  Fentolin  murmured.  "  That  sounds 
much  more  reasonable.  When  you  talk  like  that,  my 
friend,  I  feel  indeed  that  there  is  hope  for  you.  Let 


3i6      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

us  abandon  this  subject  for  the  present.  Have  you 
solved  the  puzzle  jet?  "  he  asked  Meekins. 

Meekins  was  standing  below  the  closed  trap-door. 
He  had  already  dragged  up  a  wooden  case  underneath 
and  was  piling  it  with  various  articles  of  furniture. 

"  Not  yet,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  When  I  have  made 
this  steadier,  I  am  just  going  to  see  what  pressure  I 
can  bring  to  bear  on  the  trap-door."  , 

"  I  heard  the  bolts  go,"  Doctor  Sarson  remarked 
uneasily. 

"  In  that  case,"  Mr.  Fentolin  declared,  "  it  will  in- 
deed be  an  interesting  test  of  our  friend  Meekins' 
boasted  strength.  Meekins  holds  his  place  —  a  very 
desirable  placej  too  —  chiefly  for  two  reasons :  first 
his  discretion  and  secondly  his  muscles.  He  has 
never  before  had  a  real  opportunity  of  testing  the 
latter.  We  shall  see." 

Doctor  Sarson  came  slowly  and  gravely  to  the  bed- 
side. He  looked  down  upon  his  patient.  Mr.  Dun- 
ster  shivered. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  sir,"  he  said  very  softly,  "  that 
Mr.  Dunster,  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  is  a  very 
safe  person  to  be  allowed  his  freedom.  It  is  true  that 
we  have  kept  him  here  for  his  own  sake,  because  of 
his  fits  of  mental  wandering.  Our  statements,  how- 
erer,  may  bo  doubted.  An  apparent  return  to  san- 
ity on  his  part  may  lend  colour  to  his  accusations,  es- 
pecially if  permanent.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well 
to  pursue  that  investigation  a  shade  further.  A 
touch  more  to  the  left  and  I  do  not  think  that  Mr. 
Dunster  will  remember  much  in  this  world  likely  to 
affect  us." 

Mr.  Dunster's  face  was  like  marble.     There  were 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      317 

beads  of  perspiration  upon  his  forehead,  his  eyes  were 
filled  with  reminiscent  horror.  Mr.  Fentolin  bent 
over  him  with  genuine  interest. 

"  What  a  picture  he  would  make ! "  he  murmured. 
"  What  a  drama !  Do  you  know,  I  am  half  inclined 
to  agree  with  you,  Sarson.  The  only  trouble  is  that 
you  have  not  your  instruments  here." 

"  I  could  improvise  something  that  would  do  the 
trick,"  the  doctor  said  thoughtfully.  "  It  realty 
isn't  a  complicated  affair.  It  seems  to  me  that  his 
story  may  gain  credence  from  the  very  fact  of  our 
being  discovered  in  this  extraordinary  place.  To 
have  moved  him  here  was  a  mistake,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Mr.  Fentolin  admitted,  with  a  sigh. 
"  It  was  our  young  friend  Mr.  Hamel  who  was  re- 
sponsible for  it.  I  fancied  him  arriving  with  a 
search  warrant  at  any  moment.  We  will  bear  in 
mind  your  suggestion  for  a  few  minutes.  Let  us 
watch  Meekins.  This  promises  to  be  interesting." 

By  dint  of  piling  together  all  the  furniture  in  the 
place,  the  man  was  now  able  to  reach  the  trap-door. 
He  pressed  upon  it  vigorously  without  even  bending 
the  wood.  Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  Meekins,"  he  said,  "  look  at  me." 

The  man  turned  and  faced  his  master.  Plis  aspect 
of  dogged  civility  had  never  been  more  apparent. 

"  Now  listen,"  Mr.  Fentolin  went  on.  "  I  want  to 
remind  you  of  certain  things,  Meekins.  We  are 
among  friends  here  —  no  secrecy,  you  understand,  or 
anything  of  that  sort.  You  need  not  be  afraid! 
You  know  how  you  came  to  me?  You  remember  that 
little  affair  of  Anna  Jayes  in  Hartlcpool?  " 

The  face  of  the  man  was  filled  with  terror.     He  be- 


3i8      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

gan  to  tremble  where  he  stood.  Mr.  Fentolin  played 
for  a  moment  with  his  collar,  as  though  he  found  it 
tight.  . 

"  Such  a  chance  it  was,  my  dear  Meekins,"  Mr. 
Fentolin  continued  cheerfully,  "  which  brought  me 
that  little  scrap  of  knowledge  concerning  you.  It 
has  bought  me  through  all  these  years  a  good  deal  of 
faithful  service.  I  am  not  ungrateful,  believe  me.  I 
intend  to  retain  you  for  my  body-servant  and  to  keep 
my  lips  sealed,  for  a  great  many  years  to  come. 
Now  remember  what  I  have  said.  When  we  leave  this 
place,  that  little  episode  will  steal  back  into  a  far 
corner  of  my  mind.  I  shall,  in  short,  forget  it.  If 
we  are  caught  here  and  inconvenience  follows,  well, 
I  cannot  say.  Do  your  best,  Meekins.  Do  a  little 
better  than  your  best.  You  have  the  reputation  of 
being  a  strong  man.  Let  us  see  you  justify  it." 

The  man  took  a  long  breath  and  returned  to  his 
task.  His  shoulders  and  arms  were  upon  the  door. 
He  began  to  strain.  He  grew  red  in  the  face;  the 
veins  across  his  forehead  stood  out,  blue,  like  tightly- 
drawn  string.  His  complexion  became  purple. 
Through  his  open  mouth  his  breath  came  in  short 
pants.  With  every  muscle  of  his  body  and  neck  he 
strained  and  strained.  The  woodwork  gave  a  little, 
but  it  never  even  cracked.  With  a  sob  he  suddenly 
almost  collapsed.  Mr.  Fentolin  looked  at  him, 
frowning. 

"  Very  good  —  very  good,  Meekins,"  he  said,  "  but 
not  quite  good  enough.  You  are  a  trifle  out  of  prac- 
tice, perhaps.  Take  your  breath,  take  time.  Re- 
member that  you  have  another  chance.  I  am  not  an- 
gry with  you,  Meekins.  I  know  there  are  many  en- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      319 

terprises  upon  which  one  does  not  succeed  the  first 
time.  Get  your  breath ;  there  is  no  hurry.  Next 
time  you  try,  see  that  you  succeed.  It  is  very  im- 
portant, Meekins,  for  you  as  well  as  for  us,  that  you 
succeed." 

The  man  turned  doggedly  back  to  his  task.  The 
eyes  of  the  three  men  watched  him  —  Mr.  Dunster 
on  the  bed;  Doctor  Sarson,  pale  and  gloomy,  with 
something  of  fear  in  his  dark  eyes ;  and  Mr.  Fentolin 
himself,  whose  expression  seemed  to  be  one  of  purely 
benevolent  and  encouraging  interest.  Once  more  the 
face  of  the  man  became  almost  unrecognisable. 
There  was  a  great  crack,  the  trap-door  had  shifted. 
Meekins,  with  a  little  cry,  reeled  and  sank  backwards. 
Mr.  Fentolin  clapped  his  hands  lightly. 

"  Really,  Meekins,"  he  declared,  "  I  do  not  know 
when  I  have  enjoyed  any  performance  so  much.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  back  in  the  days  of  the  Roman  gladi- 
ators. I  can  see  that  you  mean  to  succeed.  You 
will  succeed.  You  do  not  mean  to  end  your  days 
amid  objectionable  surroundings." 

With  the  air  of  a  man  temporarily  mad,  Meekins 
went  back  to  his  task.  He  was  sobbing  to  himself 
now.  His  clothes  had  burst  away  from  him.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  crash,  the  hinges  of  the  trap-door 
had  parted.  With  the  blood  streaming  from  a 
wound  in  his  forehead,  Meekins  staggered  back  to  his 
feet.  Mr.  Fentolin  nodded. 

"  Excellent !  "  he  pronounced.  "  Really  excellent. 
With  a  little  assistance  from  our  friend  Meekins,  you, 
I  am  sure,  Sarson,  will  now  be  able  to  climb  up  and 
let  down  the  steps." 

Doctor  Sarson  stood  by  Mr.  Fentolin's  chair,  and 


320      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

together  they  looked  up  through  the  fragments  of  the 
trap-door.  Meekins  was  still  breathing  heavily. 
Suddenly  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  sharp  report,  as 
of  a  door  above  being  slammed. 

"  Some  one  was  in  the  boat-house  when  I  broke  the 
trap-door,"  Meekins  muttered.  "  I  heard  them  mov- 
ing about." 

Mr.  Fentolin  frowned. 

"  Then  let  us  hurry,"  he  said.  "  Sarson,  what 
about  your  patient?  " 

Mr.  Dunster  was  lying  upon  his  side,  watching 
them.  The  doctor  went  over  to  the  bedside  and  felt 
his  pulse  and  head. 

"  He  will  do  for  twelve  hours,"  he  pronounced. 
"  If  you  think  that  other  little  operation  — " 

He  broke  off  and  looked  at  Mr.  Fentolin  mean- 
ingly. The  man  on  the  bed  shrank  back,  his  eyes 
lit  with  horror.  Mr.  Fentolin  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  that  we  must  not  stay  for  that 
just  now.  A  little  later  on,  perhaps,  if  it  becomes 
necessary.  Let  us  first  attend  to  the  business  on 
hand." 

Meekins  once  more  clambered  on  to  the  little  heap 
of  furniture.  The  doctor  stood  by  his  side  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  with  an  effort,  he  was  hoisted  up  until 
he  could  catch  hold  of  the  floor  of  the  outhouse. 
Meekins  gave  one  push,  and  he  disappeared. 

"  Any  one  up  there  ?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  enquired,  a 
shade  of  anxiety  in  his  tone. 

"  No  one,"  the  doctor  reported. 
.  "  Has  anything  been  disturbed  ?  " 

Doctor  Sarson  was  some  little  time  before  he  re- 
plied. 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      321 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  some  one  seems  to  have  been  rum- 
maging about." 

"  Send  down  the  steps  quickly,"  Mr.  Fentolin  or- 
dered. "  I  am  beginning  to  find  the  atmosphere  here 
unpleasant." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Then  they  heard  the 
sound  of  the  ladder  being  dragged  across  the  floor, 
and  a  moment  or  two  later  it  was  carefully  lowered 
and  placed  in  position.  Mr.  Fentolin  passed  the 
rope  through  the  front  of  his  carriage  and  was  drawn 
up.  From  his  bed  Mr.  Dunster  watched  them  go. 
It  was  hard  to  tell  whether  he  was  relieved  or  disap- 
pointed. 

"  Who  has  been  in  here?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  demanded, 
as  he  looked  around  the  place. 

There  was  no  reply.  A  grey  twilight  was  strug- 
gling now  through  the  high,  dust-covered  windows. 
Meekins,  who  had  gone  on  towards  the  door,  suddenly 
called  out: 

"  Some  one  has  taken  away  the  key !  The  door  is 
locked  on  the  other  side !  " 

Mr.  Fentolin's  frown  was  malign  even  for  him. 

"  Our  dear  friend,  Mr.  Hamel,  I  suppose,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  Another  little  debt  we  shall  owe  him !  Try 
the  other  door." 

Meekins  moved  towards  the  partition.  Suddenly 
he  paused.  Mr.  Fentolin's  hand  was  outstretched; 
he,  too,  was  listening.  Above  the  low  thunder  of  the 
sea  came  another  sound,  a  sound  which  at  that  mo- 
ment they  none  of  them  probably  understood.  There 
was  the  steady  crashing  of  feet  upon  the  pebbles,  a 
low  murmur  of  voices.  Mr.  Fentolin  for  the  first 
time  showed  symptoms  of  fear. 


322      THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Try  the  other  door  quickly,"  he  directed. 

Meekins  came  back,  shaking  his  head.  Outside, 
the  noise  seemed  to  be  increasing.  The  door  was 
suddenly  thrown  open.  Hannah  Cox  stood  outside 
in  her  plain  black  dress,  her  hair  wind-tossed,  her  eyes 
aflame.  She  held  the  key  in  her  fingers,  and  she 
looked  in  upon  them.  Her  lips  seemed  to  move,  but 
she  said  nothing. 

"  My  good  woman,"  Mr.  Fentolin  exclaimed, 
frowning,  "  are  you  the  person  who  removed  that 
key?" 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  chair.  She  took  no  no- 
tice of  the  other  two. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  there  is  something  here  I  want 
you  to  listen  to.  Come !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

Mr.  Fentolin,  arrived  outside  on  the  stone  front  of 
the  boat-house,  pointed  the  wheel  of  his  chair  towards 
the  Hall.  Hannah  Cox,  who  kept  by  his  side,  how- 
ever, drew  it  gently  towards  the  beach. 

**  Down  here,"  she  directed  softly.  "  Bring  your 
chair  down  the  plank-way,  close  to  the  water's  edge." 

"  My  good  woman,"  Mr.  Fentolin  exclaimed  furi- 
ously, "  I  am  not  in  the  humour  for  this  sort  of  thing ! 
Lock  up,  Sarson,  at  once ;  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  get 
back." 

"  But  you  will  come  just  this  little  way,"  she  con- 
tinued, speaking  without  any  change  of  tone.  "  You 
see,  the  others  are  waiting,  too.  I  have  been  down 
to  the  village  and  fetched  them  up." 

Mr.  Fentolin  followed  her  outstretched  finger  and 
gave  a  sudden  start.  Standing  at  the  edge  of  the  sea 
were  a  dozen  or  twenty  fishermen.  They  were  all 
muttering  together  and  looking  at  the  top  of  the 
boat-house.  As  he  realised  the  direction  of  their 
gaze,  Mr.  Fentolin's  face  underwent  a  strange  trans- 
formation. He  seemed  to  shrink  in  his  chair.  He 
was  ghastly  pale  even  to  the  lips.  Slowly  he  turned 
his  head.  From  a  place  in  the  roof  of  the  boat-house 
a  tall  support  had  appeared.  On  the  top  was  a 
swinging  globe. 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  that?  "  he  asked  in  a 
low  tone. 


324      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  I  found  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  felt  that  it  was 
there.  I  have  brought  them  up  with  me  to  see  it.  I 
think  that  they  want  to  ask  you  some  questions. 
But  first,  come  and  listen." 

Mr.  Fentolin  shook  her  off.  He  looked  around  for 
Meekins. 

"  Meekins,  stand  by  my  chair,"  he  ordered  sharply. 
"  Turn  round ;  I  wish  to  go  to  the  Hall.  Drive  this 
woman  away." 

Meekins  came  hurrying  up,  but  almost  at  the  same 
moment  half  a  dozen  of  the  brown- jerseyed  fishermen 
detached  themselves  from  the  others.  They  formed 
a  little  bodyguard  around  the  bath-chair. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  de- 
manded, his  voice  shrill  with  anger.  "  Didn't  you 
hear  what  I  said?  This  woman  annoys  me.  Send 
her  away." 

Not  one  of  the  fishermen  answered  a  word  or  made 
the  slightest  movement  to  obey  him.  One  of  them,  a 
grey-bearded  veteran,  drew  the  chair  a  little  further 
down  the  planked  way  across  the  pebbles.  Hannah 
Cox  kept  close  to  its  side.  They  came  to  a  standstill 
only  a  few  yards  from  where  the  waves  were  break- 
ing. She  lifted  her  hand. 

"  Listen !  "  she  cried.     "  Listen !  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  turned  helplessly  around.  The  little 
group  of  fishermen  had  closed  in  upon  Sarson  and 
Meekins.  The  woman's  hand  was  upon  his  shoulder ; 
she  pointed  seaward  to  where  a  hissing  line  of  white 
foam  marked  the  spot  where  the  topmost  of  the  rocks 
were  visible. 

"  You  wondered  why  I  have  spent  so  much  of  my 
time  out  here,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Now  you  will 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      325 

know.  If  you  listen  as  I  am  listening,  as  I  have  lis- 
tened for  so  many  weary  hours,  so  many  weary  years, 
you  will  hear  them  calling  to  me,  David  and  John  and 
Stephen.  '  The  light ! '  Do  you  hear  what  they  are 
crying?  'The  light!  Fentolin's  light!'  Look!" 

She  forced  him  to  look  once  more  at  the  top  of  the 
boat-house. 

"  They  were  right !  "  she  proclaimed,  her  voice 
gaining  in  strength  and  intensity.  "  They  were 
neither  drunk  nor  reckless.  They  steered  as  straight 
as  human  hand  could  guide  a  tiller,  for  Fentolin's 
light !  And  there  they  are,  calling  and  calling  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  —  my  three  boys  and  my  man. 
Do  you  know  for  whom  they  call?  " 

Mr.  Fentolin  shrank  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Take  this  woman  away ! "  he  ordered  the  fisher- 
men. "Do  you  hear?  Take  her  away;  she  is 
mad!" 

They  looked  towards  him,  but  not  one  of  them 
moved.  Mr.  Fentolin  raised  his  whistle  to  his  lips, 
and  blew  it. 

"  Meekins  !  "  he  cried.  "  Where  are  you,  Mee- 
kins?" 

He  turned  his  head  and  saw  at  once  that  Meekins 
•was  powerless.  Five  or  six  of  the  fishermen  had 
gathered  around  him.  There  were  at  least  thirty 
of  them  about,  sinewy,  powerful  men.  The  only 
person  who  moved  towards  Mr.  Fentolin's  carriage 
Was  Jacob,  the  coast  guardsman. 

"  Mr.  Fentolin,  sir,"  he  said,  "  the  lads  have  got 
your  bully  safe.  It's  a  year  and  more  that  Hannah 
Cox  has  been  about  the  village  with  some  story  about 
two  lights  on  a  stormy  night.  It's  true  what  she 


326      THE    VAiSTISHED    MESSENGER 

says  —  that  her  man  and  boys  lie  drowned.  There's 
William  Green,  besides,  and  a  nephew  of  my  own  — 
John  Kallender.  And  Philip  Green  —  he  was  saved. 
He  swore  by  all  that  was  holy  that  he  steered  straight 
for  the  light  when  his  boat  struck,  and  that  as  he 
swam  for  shore,  five  minutes  later,  he  saw  the  light 
reappear  in  another  place.  It's  a  strange  story. 
What  have  you  to  say,  sir,  about  that?  " 

He  pointed  straight  to  the  wire-encircled  globe 
which  towered  on  its  slender  support  above  the  boat- 
house.  Mr.  Fentolin  looked  at  it  and  looked  back 
at  the  coast  guardsman.  The  brain  of  a  Machia- 
'velli  could  scarcely  have  invented  a  plausible  re- 


"  The  light  was  never  lit  there,"  he  said.  "  It  was 
simply  to  help  me  in  some  electrical  experiments." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  those  who 
were  looking  on  saw  Mr.  Fentolin  apart  from  his 
carriage.  Without  any  haste  but  with  amazing 
strength,  Hannah  Cox  leaned  over,  and,  with  her 
arms  around  his  middle,  lifted  him  sheer  up  into  the 
air.  She  carried  him,  clasped  in  her  arms,  a  weird, 
struggling  object,  to  the  clumsy  boat  that  lay  always 
at  the  top  of  the  beach.  She  dropped  him  into  the 
bottom,  took  her  seat,  and  unshipped  the  oars.  For 
one  moment  the  coast  guardsman  hesitated  ;  then  he 
obeyed  her  look.  He  gave  the  boat  a  push  which 
sent  it  grinding  down  the  pebbles  into  the  sea.  The 
woman  began  to  work  at  the  oars.  Every  now  and 
then  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  that  thin  line 
of  white  surf  which  they  were  all  the  time  approach- 
ing. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  woman?  "  Mr.  Fentolin  de- 


THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER      327 

manded  hoarsely.  "  Listen !  It  was  an  accident 
that  your  people  were  drowned.  I'll  give  you  an  an- 
nuity. I'll  make  you  rich  for  life  —  rich !  Do  you 
understand  what  that  means?  " 

"  Aye !  "  she  answered,  looking  down  upon  him  as 
he  lay  doubled  up  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  "  I 
know  what  it  means  to  be  rich  —  better  than  you, 
maybe.  Not  to  let  the  gold  and  silver  pieces  fall 
through  your  fingers,  or  to  live  in  a  great  house  and 
be  waited  upon  by  servants  who  desert  you  in  the 
hour  of  need.  That  isn't  being  rich.  It's  rich  to 
feel  the  touch  of  the  one  you  love,  to  see  the  faces 
around  of  those  you've  given  birth  to,  to  move  on 
through  the  days  and  nights  towards  the  end,  with 
them  around ;  not  to  know  the  chill  loneliness  of  an 
empty  life.  I  am  a  poor  woman,  Mr.  Fentolin,  and 
it's  your  hand  that  made  me  so,  and  not  all  the  mira- 
cles that  the  Bible  ever  told  of  can  make  me  rich 
again." 

"  You  are  a  fool !  "  he  shrieked.  "  You  can  buy 
forgetfulness !  The  memory  of  everything  passes." 

"  I  may  be  a  fool,"  she  retorted  grimly,  "  and  you 
the  wise  man ;  but  this  day  we'll  both  know  the  truth." 

There  was  a  little  murmur  from  the  shore,  where 
the  fishermen  stood  in  a  long  line. 

"  Bring  him  back,  missus,"  Jacob  called  out. 
"  You've  scared  him  enough.  Bring  him  back. 
We'll  leave  him  to  the  law." 

They  were  close  to  the  line  of  surf  now ;  they  had 
passed  it,  indeed,  a  little  on  the  left,  and  the  boat 
was  drifting.  She  stood  up,  straight  and  stern,  and 
her  face,  as  she  looked  towards  the  land,  was  lit  with 
the  fire  of  the  prophetess. 


328      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

"  Aye,"  she  cried,  "we'll  leave  him  to  the  law  — 
to  the  law  of  God !  " 

Then  they  saw  her  stoop  down,  and  once  more  with 
that  almost  superhuman  strength  which  seemed  to 
belong  to  her  for  those  few  moments,  she  lifted  the 
strange  object  who  lay  cowering  there,  high  above 
her  head.  From  the  shore  they  realised  what  was 
going  to  happen,  and  a  great  shout  arose.  She 
stood  on  the  side  of  the  boat  and  jumped,  holding 
her  burden  tightly  in  her  arms.  So  they  went  down 
and  disappeared. 

Half  a  dozen  of  the  younger  fishermen  were  in  the 
water  even  before  the  grim  spectacle  was  ended ;  an- 
other ran  for  a  boat  that  was  moored  a  little  way 
down  the  beach.  But  from  the  first  the  search  was 
useless.  Only  Jacob,  who  was  a  person  afflicted  with 
many  superstitions,  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  fore- 
head as  he  leaned  over  the  bow  of  his  boat  and  looked 
down  into  that  fathomless  space. 

"  I  heard  her  singing,  her  or  her  wraith,"  he  swore 
afterwards.  "  I'll  never  forget  the  moment  I  looked 
down  and  down,  and  the  water  seemed  to  grow  clearer, 
and  I  saw  her  walking  there  at  the  bottom  among  the 
rocks,  with  him  over  her  back,  singing  as  she  went, 
looking  everywhere  for  George  and  the  boys !  " 

But  if  indeed  his  eyes  were  touched  with  fire  at  that 
moment,  no  one  else  in  the  world  saw  anything  more 
of  Miles  Fentolin. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

Mr.  John  P.  Dunster  removed  the  cigar  from  his 
teeth  and  gazed  at  the  long  white  ash  with  the  air  of 
a  connoisseur.  He  was  stretched  in  a  long  chair, 
high  up  in  the  terraced  gardens  behind  the  Hall. 
At  his  feet  were  golden  mats  of  yellow  crocuses ;  long 
borders  of  hyacinths  —  pink  and  purple;  bed.s  of 
violets;  a  great  lilac  tree,  with  patches  of  blossom 
here  and  there  forcing  their  way  into  a  sunlit  world. 
The  sea  was  blue;  the  sheltered  air  where  they  sat 
was  warm  and  perfumed.  Mr.  Dunster,  who  was  oc- 
cupying the  position  of  a  favoured  guest,  was  feeling 
very  much  at  home. 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  he  remarked  meditatively, 
"  which  I  can't  help  thinking  about  you  Britishers. 
You  may  deserve  it  or  you  may  not,  but  you  do  have 
the  most  almighty  luck." 

"  Sheer  envy,"  Hamel  murmured.  "  We  escape 
from  our  tight  corners  by  forethought." 

"  Not  on  your  life,  sir,"  Mr.  D.unster  declared  vig- 
orously. "  A  year  or  less  ago  you  got  a  North  Sea 
scare,  and  on  the  strength  of  a  merely  honourable  un- 
derstanding with  your  neighbour,  you  risk  your  coun- 
try's very  existence  for  the  sake  of  adding  half  a 
dozen  battleships  to  your  North  Sea  Squadron.  The 
day  the  last  of  those  battleships  passed  through  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar,  this  little  Conference  was  plot- 
ted. I  tell  you  they  meant  to  make  history  there. 


330      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

There  was  enough  for  everybody  —  India  for  Rus- 
sia, a  time-honoured  dream,  but  why  not?  Alsace- 
Lorraine  and  perhaps  Egypt,  for  France;  Australia 
for  Japan ;  China  and  South  Africa  for  Germany. 
Why  not?  You  may  laugh  at  it  on  paper  but  I  say 
again  —  why  not  ?  " 

*'  It  didn't  quite  come  off,  sir,"  Gerald  observed. 

"  It  didn't,"  Mr.  Dunster  admitted,  "  partly  ow- 
ing to  you.  There  were  only  two  things  needed: 
France  to  consider  her  own  big  interests  and  to  ig- 
nore an  entente  from  which  she  gains  nothing  that 
was  not  assured  to  her  under  the  new  agreement,  and 
the  money.  Strange,"  Mr.  Dunster  continued,  "  how 
people  forget  that  factor,  and  yet  the  man  who  was 
responsible  for  The  Hague  Conference  knew  it.  We 
in  the  States  are  right  outside  all  these  little  jealous- 
ies and  wrangles  that  bring  Europe,  every  now  and 
then,  right  up  to  the  gates  of  war,  but  I'm  hanged  if 
there  is  one  of  you  dare  pass  through  those  gates 
without  a  hand  on  our  money  markets.  It's  a  new 
word  in  history,  that  little  document,  news  of  which 
Mr.  Gerald  here  took  to  The  Hague,  the  word  of  the 
money  kings  of  the  world.  There  is  something  that 
almost  nips  your  breath  in  the  idea  that  a  dozen  men, 
descended  from  the  Lord  knows  whom,  stopped  a 
war  which  would  have  altered  the  whole  face  of  his- 
tory." 

"  There  was  never  any  proof,"  Hamel  remarked, 
"  that  France  would  not  have  remained  staunch 
to  us." 

"  Very  likely  not,"  Mr.  Dunster  agreed,  "  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  your  country  had  never  the  right  to 
put  such  a  burden  upon  her  honour.  Remember  that 


THE   VANISHED    MESSENGER      331 

side  by  side  with  those  other  considerations,  a  great 
statesman's  first  duty  is  to  the  people  over  whom  he 
watches,  not  to  study  the  interests  of  other  lands. 
However,  it's  finished.  The  Hague  Conference  is 
broken  up.  The  official  organs  of  the  world  allude 
to  it,  if  at  all,  as  an  unimportant  gathering  called 
together  to  discuss  certain  frontier  questions  with 
which  England  had  nothing  to  do.  But  the  memory 
of  it  will  live.  A  good  cold  douche  for  you  people, 
I  should  say,  and  I  hope  you'll  take  warning  by  it. 
Whatever  the  attitude  of  America  as  a  nation  may 
be  to  these  matters,  the  American  people  don't  want 
to  see  the  old  country  in  trouble.  Gee  whiz !  What's 
that?" 

There  was  a  little  cry  from  all  of  them.  Only 
Hamel  stood  without  sign  of  surprise,  gazing  down- 
ward with  grim,  set  face.  A  dull  roar,  like  the  boom- 
ing of  a  gun,  flashes  of  fire,  and  a  column  of  smoke 
—  and  all  that  was  left  of  St.  David's  Tower  was 
one  tottering  wall  and  a  scattered  mass  of  masonry. 

"  I  had  an  idea,"  Hamel  said  quietly,  "  that  St. 
David's  Tower  was  going  to  spoil  the  landscape  for 
a  good  many  years.  My  property,  you  know,  and 
there's  the  end  of  it.  I  am  sick  of  seeing  people  for 
the  last  few  days  come  down  and, take  photographs 
of  it  for  every  little  rag  that  goes  to  press." 

Mr.  Dunster  pointed  out  to  the  line  of  surf  beyond. 

"  If  only  some  hand,"  he  remarked,  "  could  plant 
dynamite  below  that  streak  of  white,  so  that  the  sea 
could  disgorge  its  dead!  They  tell  me  there's  a 
Spanish  galleon  there,  and  a  Dutch  warship,  besides 
a  score  or  more  of  fishing-boats." 

Mrs.    Fentolin    shivered    a    little.     She   drew   her 


332      THE    VANISHED    MESSENGER 

cloak  around  her.  Gerald,  who  had  been  watching 
her,  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,"  he  exclaimed,  "  we  chose  the  gardens 
for  our  last  afternoon  here,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of 
these  places !  We'll  go  round  the  hill." 

Mrs.  Fentolin  shook  her  head  once  more.  Her 
face  had  recovered  its  serenity.  She  looked  down- 
ward gravely  but  with  no  sign  of  fear. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  terrify  us  there,  Gerald," 
she  declared.  "  The  sea  has  gathered,  and  the  sea 
will  hold  its  own." 

Hamel  held  out  his  hand  to  Esther. 

**  I  have  destroyed  the  only  house  in  the  world 
which  I  possess,"  he  said.  "  Come  and  look  for 
violets  with  me  in  the  spinney,  and  let  us  talk  of  the 
houses  we  are  going  to  build,  and  the  dreams  we  shall 
dream  in  them." 


THE  END 


A     000135466     1 


